


A Love Through History and Eternity

by Caahs



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 5+1 Things, Actor Miya Atsumu, Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece & Rome, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Renaissance, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - World War I, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Character Death, Flirty Miya Atsumu, Hurt/Comfort, Lord Sakusa Kiyoomi, M/M, Major Illness, Middle Ages, Miya Atsumu is a Little Shit, Mythology References, Non-Explicit Sex, Painter Sakusa Kiyoomi, Pro Volleyball Player Miya Atsumu, Pro Volleyball Player Sakusa Kiyoomi, Sailor Miya Atsumu, Sakusa Kiyoomi is Bad at Feelings, Slow Burn, Soldier Miya Atsumu, Vassalage, Violence, Witch Akaashi Keiji
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:35:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 52,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28558455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caahs/pseuds/Caahs
Summary: Ever since he had been turned into a vampire, Sakusa Kiyoomi lived through a large number of events.Over the centuries, he witnessed the birth of theater, experienced a lord’s life, watched the eradication of half of Europe’s population, painted his way through a cultural revolution, survived one of the deadliest conflicts in history, and became a professional volleyball player.There was one common thing between them all, someone whose soul remained the same and repeatedly found its way back to Kiyoomi regardless of time.Or, five times Sakusa Kiyoomi met Miya Atsumu through history and had to watch him go. And one time he made him stay.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 175
Kudos: 423
Collections: skts





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! As promised, this is the vampire fic I've been talking about for the last two months or so
> 
> I need to thank a lot of people. So thank you, May, Nicke, Bella, Mei, Em and Sumo for listening to me, always being supportive of my writing and helping me with the plot
> 
> And a special thanks to my beautiful and wonderful beta, I appreciate all your tears and comment of hate in my docs
> 
> This work is completed and I'll be posting every Mondays and Fridays  
> Tags and rating will be updated along with the chapters so you don't get spoilers
> 
> Let's all forget this was supposed to be a Halloween fic lmao  
> Enjoy!
> 
> TW // Mentions of blood

Sakusa Kiyoomi thought his life would follow the destined series of events like everyone else’s. He would be born, have a decent and not so traumatizing childhood, live a considerably happy life as an adult to only grow old and die. His own circle of life would then be completed as expected.

But that didn’t go according to his plans.

Since he was a child, Kiyoomi had heard stories, ancient tales, and myths about supernatural beings, an infinite number of gods and goddesses who ruled their world and offered its people their blessings - or punishments. Zeus, master of the sky and thunder, standing proudly high above in the Olympus; Poseidon, ruler of the seas that surrounded their small piece of land and Hades, the king of the underworld and controller of wealth, ready to receive the deceased’s poor and unfortunate souls. Those wore a few examples of the Greek deities people idolized.

But they weren’t the only supernatural beings Kiyoomi had learned about. There were also dark creatures that lurked through the world, as sneaky as the most skillful thieves and as wicked as their intentions. No one dared to talk much about those beasts, not when they believed the gods would chasten them for even considering their existence among the living. Shapeshifters, harpies, griffins, strixes, manticores, centaurs, dragons, werewolves, and obviously, vampires. 

To say Kiyoomi wasn’t fascinated by them would be a filthy lie. Ever since his grandfather had offered him the knowledge and a few scarce and secret books regarding those creatures, Kiyoomi’s interest was piqued. He studied about their origins, habits, and the legends that circled their names. An unhealthy obsession that had been kept as a secret throughout his life. 

Kiyoomi was a skeptical child who grew up to be an even more doubtful man, refusing to believe in those religious deities his parents and everyone else devoted their lives to. He only trusted what he could see, the palpable and solid things he could touch, and that also applied to the creatures he came to be fascinated with. That hadn’t stopped his undying curiosity from blossoming, however. Kiyoomi had been intrigued by the possibility of their existence but shoved all those thoughts away as soon as they appeared since they were simply ridiculous. 

it wasn’t possible for them to stand among the living because such inhumans things did not exist.

Not until Kiyoomi had turned into one of them.

It happened in the blink of an eye, too quickly for Kiyoomi to react or process the sharp pain that traveled through his whole body the moment a pair of fangs touched the sensitive skin of his neck. The sensations were akin to being tortured by invisible hands who took pleasure in scratching his skin and ripping his organs from the inside. Kiyoomi could feel his soul being drained from his veins and his heartbeat increasing its pace, trying to pump what was left of blood to keep him sane but to no avail. His palms were sweaty when he tried to push the stranger’s face away, but he had already lost his strength, and his limbs were too tired and too cold to move. The world started to spin, he was lightheaded and his vision blurred from the lack of oxygen. There was no getting away from those hands now as they were everywhere, sucking the energy from his pliant body and laying him down into the arms of that mythological creature that had just condemned his entire life. 

One moment he was still conscious and the other he had already passed out.

When Kiyoomi woke up, he found himself in a room that wasn’t his. He searched for anything, a sign that would show him where he was, when his eyes landed on a figure sitting right beside him, a funny-looking man with light brown hair and small eyebrows.

“You’re finally awake!” The man said. 

The moment he smiled, Kiyoomi could clearly see a pair of sharp canines breaking through and touching the man’s bottom lip.

He was one of them.

Kiyoomi tried to move away, desperate to escape from that possible prison, but his body felt heavy and he ended up falling on the floor instead. He felt weak and completely overtaken by a strange kind of pain. His body burned and each of his limbs ached with little to no movement, still, he pressed the back of his hand against his forehead to confirm he was indeed having a fever.

This had to be a delusion caused by his body’s high temperature. There was no other explanation for the events he had previously experienced and to the fact that he was in the presence of a being that didn’t exist. Soon he would wake up from this vivid dream and everything would be fine; he would keep praying for the gods and doing his duties as a farmer.

He saw the door and decided to crawl towards it, groaning loudly as he struggled to move his body.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Your body is probably putting up a fight against my blood right now and you need to rest.” The man casually walked to Kiyoomi and sat on his heels right in front of him. “Let me help you get back to bed, this can take some time.”

“Don’t touch me,” Kiyoomi managed to say through clenched teeth.

“Sorry, but I have to. I need to take care of you from now on, so you should probably get used to that.” The man offered him a sad smile and lifted him effortlessly from the cold floor, placing him back on the bed.

Kiyoomi’s protests were useless and his eyes started to involuntarily close, begging him for a few more hours - or even days, of sleep. With what was left of energy, he managed to ask. “Who are you?”

“Oh, I’m Komori Motoya, nice to meet you…”

“Kiyoomi. Sakusa Kiyoomi,” he answered.

“Kiyoomi, I think we’re kind of relatives now! We don’t look much alike to be called brothers and I’m definitely too young to be your dad, so I can be your cousin instead.” The man, Motoya, smiled sheepishly. “Sleep now, go ahead, it’s useless to fight. I have a lot to teach you about your new life.”

Kiyoomi thought a sudden death would certainly be nicer than the torturous experience he had been through during the next two days.

It started with a burn, something close to a small candle flame at first, which soon dripped that scolding wax onto every inch of Kiyoomi’s skin. The clashing temperatures made Kiyoomi shiver now and then; hot on the inside and cold on the outside. A warmth started to spread through his body like a disease - which really felt like one; corrupting his cells and gradually taking control of his organs. No matter how hard his body tried to fight against it, the vampire’s blood prevailed in his veins.

In between flashes of consciousness, Kiyoomi learned a few things from Motoya.

One, Motoya didn’t mean to turn him into a vampire but he underestimated his own hunger; it had been hard to find wild animals to feed on lately and he was desperate. Two, Kiyoomi’s senses would be heightened, so much that it would take him some time getting used to the sound of people’s voices without feeling any pain. Three, the garlic and sunlight things were apparently real - Motoya really emphasized the garlic part; but not the silver, shapeshifting, or bloodshot eyes ones. Sunlight wouldn’t burn him instantly like the myths used to say, though; something familiar to a hypersensitivity reaction would occur upon his skin instead with itching, rashes, and eventual burns much later on. Motoya advised him to stay away from it as much as he could. Four, he had superpowers now - that’s exactly how Motoya excitedly mentioned; super strength and healing powers, or as Kiyoomi preferred to say, unnatural regeneration. 

Five, and the most important thing, Kiyoomi was now practically immortal. He would eventually grow old, yet at a much slower pace than a normal human being. Motoya, for example, looked like a 20-year-old with 45 years of background. And he was one of the youngest.

There weren’t too many of them, Motoya mentioned, three or four only. The others had moved to another island but Motoya decided to stay and enjoy the life he had been building so far. He was a renowned craftsman, a carpenter, more precisely, building houses and even leaving his marks around a temple or two. A life that wouldn’t last long, unfortunately, but he was determined to make the best out of it. Motoya had arrived in the city five years ago after abandoning his previous one. Although he said there wasn’t much left there, Kiyoomi noticed the sadness in his eyes when he talked about it.

After his third day of rest, Kiyoomi started to feel better. His limbs were no longer heavy and his senses seemed to be more adapted to his surroundings; no more bleeding ears when Motoya spoke or scrunched up faces when he inhaled the scent of his spicy cologne. There was a deep ache in his mouth still, a burning that spread through his chest and made his empty stomach grumble. Kiyoomi recognized it as hunger, the same one he felt when Motoya walked inside the room and the metallic smell of iron slowly filled his nostrils. His jaw was clenched and it throbbed, sharp canines unconsciously making their way down, pushing his gums back to give space to his teeth. There was a deep frown between Kiyoomi’s eyebrows as he struggled against his instincts and tried to keep himself calm, although it mostly appeared he was in pain. Torture, the kind you can anticipate, like a needle getting closer and breaking through your skin to painfully inject some kind of medication into your veins.

Kiyoomi groaned and Motoya’s eyes landed on him.

“Oh, you must be hungry. I got you something,” Motoya stood and retrieved a large vessel from inside a cabinet. Although Kiyoomi couldn’t see what was inside of it, he could smell the blood from miles away.

He growled louder this time.

“I put some parthenium in it to avoid clotting,” he mentioned before handling it to Kiyoomi.

It was too much. 

Kiyoomi looked at the hypnotizing dark red pool tempting him to take a single sip and he instantly felt sick, his own body turning against him. A battle had just started then, as if on his shoulders stood an angel and a demon, each presenting whispered arguments to bring Kiyoomi closer to salvation or to sin. His mind kept saying he shouldn’t drink it while his heart practically screamed at him to do so. 

Motoya saw his troubled expression and tried to ease his pain. “I know it’s hard at first, but you’ll get used to it.”

“It’s disgusting.” Kiyoomi distanced himself from the vessel and took a deep breath, which was proven to be a mistake given the enticing scent that hung heavy in the air. “I can’t do this.”

“So you’d rather die?” Motoya raised an eyebrow. “Pinch your nose and go for it. Once you get a taste, you won’t even remember what you’re drinking.”

“I didn’t ask for this.” Kiyoomi’s hands trembled around the vessel, blood almost spilling out and staining his clothes and the bedsheets. “You never gave a fucking choice.”

Motoya’s face was troubled. “I know that! And I told you I didn’t mean to, but it happened and now it’s too late to go back,” his hands got tangled up between his light brown hair and they tugged at it desperately. A deep shade of red now colored his lower eyelids. “You think I don’t regret it? You think I wouldn’t have given you a choice if I could?” A single bloody tear ran down his cheeks, its path clear on his skin. “I’m sorry.”

The room was quiet except for a few of Motoya’s sobs. His shoulders shook once or twice before they stopped moving. He had both hands pressed against his eyes, as if he was trying to hide from Kiyoomi’s stern gaze. Kiyoomi had known Motoya for four days now and he never once believed his joyfulness could be so horribly shattered like this.

He felt guilty for being the cause of Motoya’s distress. Motoya hadn’t asked for this either, just like Kiyoomi. He hadn’t planned for any of this to happen, but it did, and as he mentioned before, there was no turning back from where they were. This was Kiyoomi’s life now, whether he liked it or not. Would it be worth it to waste it all away like this? To watch all his previous dreams fade away in a single blow, like lonely petals of a dandelion dancing according to the breeze?

Kiyoomi closed his eyes and sighed before bringing the vessel closer one more time. He allowed his instincts to blossom; giving the prize to the demon on his shoulder as the little angel disappeared right before his eyes. The clay was cold against his lips, but the blood was inexplicably hot enough to keep them warm.

As soon as a drop of blood touched the tip of his tongue, Kiyoomi growled. His list of reasons he shouldn’t be doing this long forgotten as the only thing he could see, smell, taste, and hear was red; the color that stained his bottom lip like it had been kissed by a courtesan, the color that made his eyes impossibly larger, the color that turned him into a feral irrational beast. Kiyoomi drank the blood with a certain thirst he never realized it was there, like he couldn’t get enough of it. He could feel it as the blood made a scorching path down his throat and was pumped into his veins after being reabsorbed.

It made him feel alive, even though he was practically dead.

Motoya stared at him in awe, curiosity getting the best of him as he watched the last drop making its way past Kiyoomi’s lips.

The empty vessel was placed on the ground by a pair of trembling hands.

“How are you feeling?” Motoya asked. His voice small, as if his tone would scare the wild beast slowly regaining his senses. He knew how overwhelming feeding could be the first couple of times and it impressed him how much self-control Kiyoomi had.

Kiyoomi’s hands were closed tightly in fists, the pressure of his short nails leaving marks on his pale skin. He was panting heavily, struggling with how his body asked for more of that addicting substance. The fangs retracted gradually as the initial wave of adrenaline diminished and he finally opened his eyes to properly look at Motoya.

“Good.” There was a small, almost imperceptible smile on his face. “You were right, about the drinking thing. I can taste the iron even now, but if you tell me I just drank a whole vessel of wine instead of blood I’d believe you.”

Motoya laughed and made his way to Kiyoomi’s bed. “Good to know I’m dealing with a jerk.” He placed a hand on Kiyoomi’s shoulder and saw the other’s nose scrunching up in disgust. “You just drank some animal’s blood and are throwing a fit because I’m touching you? Really, Kiyoomi?”

“I don’t like people touching me,” he replied, removing Motoya’s hand with only the tips of his fingers.

“We’re family!” Motoya whined, sounding deeply hurt.

“And I don’t give a fuck.” Kiyoomi cleaned the corners of his mouth using the back of his hands, displeased by how there was blood literally everywhere; on the sheets, his clothes, his face, and hands. “Is it always this messy?”

“It gets better after a few months and as your wonderful cousin, I’ll teach you some tricks to stay clean,” Motoya puffed out his chest proudly.

“Fine,” Kiyoomi mumbled. “I really need a bath right now.”

“I’ll get you some hot water.” Motoya stopped at the doorway to give Kiyoomi one last look. 

“Welcome to your vampire life, dear cousin.”


	2. Ancient Greece

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick notes:  
> 1\. There's a lot of historial references in this story, not only in this chapter. I'll try my best to explain them at the end notes in case someone's curious  
> 2\. I did A LOT of research to write this, so most of the things you read are actually true (history nerds, I love you)  
> 3\. Tags updated
> 
> Thank you for all the Kudos/Comments/Bookmarks so far! I'm glad to see people liked the prologue. I swear things will be more interesting from now on
> 
> Enjoy!

Being a vampire was harder than it seemed.

Kiyoomi’s fangs would involuntarily come down as the distinct smell of blood filled the air, and he often forgot about his current problem with the sun as its radiation burned through his skin and left him wounded. Hunting proved to be a difficult task to be accomplished too, which had been refined over the course of three long and torturous months. Kiyoomi wasn’t proud of being the one responsible for taking the lives of innocent animals, but he did what he had to survive. Animal’s blood tasted different, and soon Kiyoomi learned he preferred sheep over chicken and pigs were completely out of the question.

That’s when Motoya told him that human blood was the best thing he had ever drank.

“Seriously, Kiyo,” Motoya spoke on their way home after another meal. They went out twice a week when the clock hit a quarter past two in the morning. Motoya only required food once a week, however, as Kiyoomi was younger, he needed more blood supply in order to further develop his skills. “Human blood tastes like ambrosia, it’s heavenly.”

Kiyoomi huffed. “You have no idea what ambrosia tastes like, Motoya. That’s for the gods only and you’re far from being one.”

Motoya shrugged. “Well, if I had to guess, I bet it’d have the same flavor.” He turned to Kiyoomi, a wicked smile on his lips that meant no good. “What do _you_ think ambrosia tastes like, Kiyo?”

Kiyoomi hummed, deep in thought as he came up with an answer to Motoya’s question. “Salty, I guess, but also sour, so much that it could leave our mouths bruised from the amount of citric acid. And as it goes down your throat, you notice its sweetness, like a prize from the gods for enduring the pain when it first touched your tongue.”

The words took Motoya by surprise, leaving him speechless for a minute or so. “Kiyo, have you ever thought about being a poet? I think it would suit you!”

“Stop talking nonsense, Motoya. Let’s just take a bath and go to sleep.”

No matter how drastically Kiyoomi’s life had changed the moment he died and became a supernatural creature, a few habits still remained intact. Ever since he was a child, Kiyoomi had been addicted to literature; unfolding rolls and more rolls of papyruses, and reading the same story his grandparents used to tell him every single night before he went to sleep. Nowadays, the stories came from old friends, who privately sent him their ideas or lousy scripts for their next play, or from the belongings he inherited from his deceased family members. The scenes gave life to Kiyoomi’s imagination, color to his black and white thoughts; they made him smile and open his mouth wide in surprise although he already expected the gods to slay the monster and be victorious. For once he was able to forget about being a vampire and the burden that he consequently had to carry over his shoulders. Whenever he felt the papyrus’ texture on his fingers, doors to a whole different world would open wide for him - and he excitedly walked inside without thinking twice about it. He had been blessed with the ability to write and read, since his grandfather was a poet himself, and he made sure to pass it along to Motoya as well.

One day, Motoya approached him while he was reading.

“Hey, they were announcing something about a play next week and I thought you’d be interested in coming. Have you ever been to one of those?”

Kiyoomi dropped the papyrus on his lap and frowned his eyebrows. “Once, but I was too young and barely remember anything from it.”

“So you’ll come with me?” Motoya was hoping to hear a yes coming from Kiyoomi’s lips but was met with another question.

“Better not. There’ll be too many people and the sun will burn us both by the end of it.”

Motoya grinned mischievously. “That won’t be a problem! They’re having two sessions, apparently, and the second one starts at six. Besides, I heard the actor from the second session is a new one, so people aren’t very interested in wasting their time with him.”

Kiyoomi raised an eyebrow at that information, hiding the two perfectly aligned moles on his forehead behind his dark curls. “You really planned this,” he stated.

“Is it bad that I want my cousin to have a little fun besides hunting animals once in a while?”

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’ll go.”

“Great!” Motoya jumped from his chair and brought his hands together loudly. “It’ll be so cool! He’ll be enacting Apollo’s battle with Python. Can you imagine that?”

“Apollo, huh?” Kiyoomi brushed his fingers against the papyrus on his lap, thinking about how it would feel to see a live representation of the stories he was so fond of. He was excited but didn’t let it show, keeping his expression as impassive as possible.

“Interesting. We’ll see what he can do.”

A white linen chiton was draped over Kiyoomi’s body, fastened at one shoulder and leaving the other exposed. A tight zoster around his waist controlled the excess of fabric which ended at his knees and made his legs impossibly longer. He wore a pair of flat light brown sandals, its interlaced straps crossing his toes and fastening above his ankles. His hair was styled to the left, leaving the two moles on his forehead to be seen by the public.

“Someone’s looking good,” Motoya teased. There wasn’t much difference between their attires, except for the color. While Kiyoomi’s chiton was white, Motoya’s was grayish. “I brought your himation if you want, no more blood stains.” He had the mantle draped over his arms, placing it carefully on Kiyoomi’s bed.

Kiyoomi pondered for a second and shook his head. “No need, but thank you for washing it.”

“Ready to go?” Kiyoomi simply nodded and so they left to the open-air theatre, or theatron, as people popularly called it.

The breeze was nothing but a gentle caress on their faces as they walked through the stone pathway. Up high in the sky they could see the colors blending in a comforting pinkish dye, one that could be obtained only from the most precious flowers. The sun was moving further away and disappearing behind the mountains, its presence no longer a threat to the undead with scarce rays of light breaking through the atmosphere. Nyx offered them a beautiful night; a half crescent moon and an infinite number of constellations shining brightly above and guiding them towards their destination.

The theatron was built as beautifully as a temple for the gods. Doric and Ionic marble columns decorated the place, characterized by rows of stone-crafted seatings disposed in a large semi circle, their height increasing the further they were from the main stage. At the center stood the orchestra and the people who danced to the songs according to the ongoing play. And behind them was the stage and the stage house with two lateral entrances. A scenery had been painted in front of the building resembling a sacred temple in the sky, and a wooden crane was on the side, ready to lift the man who would be representing a deity.

Thankfully, Motoya had been right when he said there wouldn’t be many people around. The place was spacious and Kiyoomi counted ten men besides themselves scattered through the stone seats.

Although impassive, Kiyoomi’s eyes sparkled in excitement, which hadn’t passed by unnoticed by his cousin.

“Amazing, right? I knew you’d like it,” he smiled widely.

“Have you been here before?” Kiyoomi asked, not once taking his eyes from their surroundings.

“Once or twice, yes. But usually I don’t have the time for those kinds of activities.” Motoya inhaled deeply, tipping his head back to stare at the scintillating sky. “It’s good to be out like this to have some fun and not, you know,” he growled playfully and bared his teeth like an animal would.

Kiyoomi chuckled lightly. “Yeah, it’s good,” he agreed. “Thank you for inviting me, Motoya.”

To Kiyoomi’s displeasure, Motoya patted him on his naked shoulder. The skin-on-skin contact made him flinch and gasp, deeply wishing that one day his so-called cousin would understand and respect his boundaries. Motoya’s hand fell quickly when he noticed Kiyoomi’s hesitation.

“Will you ever get used to that?” Kiyoomi asked harshly, but there was no venom in his voice.

“Well, we do have a long time until I learn,” he joked. “Sorry, Kyo.”

The sound of Kiyoomi’s tongue clicking expressed all of his current frustrations. “I guess it’s not that bad if it’s you.”

Motoya raised both of his eyebrows in surprise. “Oh, does that mean I can touch you more often?” He teasingly raised his hand and laughed when Kiyoomi backed off from his touch.

“No.” Kiyoomi was about to say something else, but stopped when a voice from the stage caught his attention.

“Good evening, my dear audience.” The man’s speech was different from the others, almost like he had some kind of accent. “I am Miya Atsumu and today I’ll present you a play about Apollo’s fierce battle against the monstrous Python.” He bowed to the people watching him curiously and went down on his knees as he prayed for Apollo’s blessing before getting into character.

He wore a mask of Apollo himself and clothes tainted in orange and yellow that ended at his thighs, a flash of brightness that stood out from all the others like a real deity from the Olympus. The moment he knelt, Kiyoomi caught a glimpse of his wavy blond hair, its color just as radiant as his attire, shining under the moonlight and the stars. On his head there was a vivid laurel wealth, the green clashing against the golden of his hair and painting on him the picture of a god.

There was something hypnotizing about the way the man moved with confidence through the stage like he knew the whole theatron as the back of his hands. He didn’t stumble as he spoke and his voice was loud enough to echo through the place known by its fantastic acoustic. His emotions could be felt with each and every word spoken, and also by the movement of his hands, the sturdiness of his legs, the respect he imposed with his attitude. He clearly knew what he was doing and how to do it right, how to grasp people’s attention with his gestures and intonations, and using his body to his own advantage in order to keep all eyes on him. And he loved to be the one everybody had their eyes on, Kiyoomi could tell by the way he vibrated on stage, energy overflowing through his tanned skin and making him glow, almost as if he had been blessed by the Sun God himself.

The crane raised the man to the skies where he belonged as Apollo vowed to seek revenge for what the vicious serpent had done to his beloved mother. Python had been sent by a jealous and possessive Hera, one of Zeus wives, the moment she had known about Leto’s pregnancy. The giant snake persecuted Leto through the lands so she couldn’t give birth to her twin children, Artemis and Apollo. When Apollo was older he learned about that story and soon reached for his silver bow and golden arrows, a gift by Hephaestus, and quickly traced a path to Mount Parnassus, where the creature rested peacefully.

The harmonious songs played by the orchestra started to rise in volume as the actor ran to the back in order to change clothes as the final battle approached.

He came back bathed in gold and wearing a new version of Apollo’s mask, one with a fierceful gaze and a mouth frown. His presence obfuscated the audience and Kiyoomi heard a gasp in between people’s cacophony of bleats, unsure if it had been his or Motoya’s - probably both.

Apollo rolled on the ground as the enraged creature lounged at him to devour his body, escaping from a bite that would have cost him his life. He was faster than the best, blessed with an incredible strength and stamina. Then, he kneeled on the ground in a perfect shooting stance, swiftly drawing the golden arrow along with the silver bowstring to his chest’s height only to release it in a clean shot right on Python’s forehead. The beast fell upon Apollo’s feet and the man once again ran to the backstage.

This time when he returned, what shocked the audience wasn’t how flashy his clothes were but the lack of it. The Greeks weren’t shy about their bodies, that being clear from the way they dressed and how they pictured their gods. A body was not something to be ashamed of, but to be worshipped instead; all its curves and muscles shaped from clay by Aphrodite’s delicate hands. A symbol of ultimate beauty. Apollo wore a white chilton decorated in red and gold like a loose cape wrapped around his shoulders and a white triangular loincloth covering his lower body.

Suddenly, there was no more music playing from the orchestra and the man revealed a golden lyra. His fingers moved through the instrument with the dexterity of a maestro guiding his musicians through a performance. The melody was peaceful yet it matched the victorious face of his new mask; a song about overcoming challenges and being crowned as a winner.

When it ended, the instrument’s sounds were replaced by applause.

“Thank you!” The man, Atsumu, bowed. “May the gods bless us all.”

And then, he was gone, taken by the breeze that ruffled Kiyoomi’s curls and woke him up from his wondrous thoughts. Kiyoomi blinked twice and stared aimlessly at the empty space where Apollo himself had just descended from Olympus and graced everyone else with his presence.

Motoya looked at him worriedly. “Kiyo? Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he said, not fully sure of how to answer that particular question.

“Come on,” Motoya got up and nodded in their house’s direction. “I’ve been calling you for a while now but you seemed completely lost. Are you hungry?”

Kiyoomi shook his head. “No, I’m fine,” this time his voice didn’t stumble. “Just impressed.” He brushed the dust off of his clothes and caught up with Motoya, who was already a few steps ahead.

“The guy was good, right!?” Motoya was just as excited about the man’s performance. “And did you see his body? How will I ever manage to spend the night with someone else after seeing those chiselled abs? I’ll be dreaming about him for weeks.”

The only thing that left Kiyoomi’s mouth was a quiet hum.

“Do you think his face is as handsome as the rest of him? What a mood-killer would be to have such a beautiful body and a terrible face.” Motoya laughed and turned to his cousin. “What do you think? No use pretending you didn’t think about that because I saw the way your eyes chased him around the stage.”

“He was the only actor on stage. Who else was I supposed to be looking at?”

Motoya looked at him with a deadpan expression. “Don’t be a smartass, just tell me what you thought about him.”

“He was…” Kiyoomi started, trying to find the right words to describe the man. “Pretty? And talented?” He said. “But unlike you, I’m not that shallow, so I will not be judging him based on his looks only.”

“So if I told you that he’ll be performing again a week from now, you wouldn’t come?” Motoya grinned when he saw Kiyoomi’s lips twitching.

“Of course I would, don’t be stupid. He’s a good actor and that’s it,” Kiyoomi mumbled, opening his mouth again only so he wouldn’t need to listen to Motoya’s snarky comments. “No more talking about this.”

“As you wish, my dear cousin.”

The following week they found themselves underneath a large tree, which shades were enough to protect them from the late afternoon sun, keeping their skins from combusting into a third-degree burn as they watched a tragedy play led by Miya Atsumu.

His colors were dull this time, no more gold or laurel wreath, but that didn’t mean the man was any less bright. The despair embedded in his voice the moment Orpheus lost his beloved Eurydice on their wedding day to the venom of a deadly viper brought the audience to tears. Kiyoomi felt his own heart clenching in despair from seeing the man so utterly devastated, mourning over what he had lost and never returning to what he once was.

Everything changed the moment Orpheus reached for his lyre and traced a path to the Underworld. His emotions touched the hearts of Hades and Persephone, who allowed his lover to return to the land of the living. However, a condition had been established, no matter what happened, Orpheus was prohibited from looking back to his wife when they were still in the dark or else she’d be dragged back to the realm of the dead.

When Orpheus stepped into the light, he desperately turned to hug his lover, but his arms found nothing as he caught a glimpse of Eurydice still in the shadows. She had been drawn back to the place she now belonged and Orpheus was once again alone.

“Must be hard, losing the person you love like this,” Motoya whispered while they watched a sad Orpheus wandering through the stage like a dog who had just lost his owner.

“He was foolish,” Kiyoomi mentioned, eyes cold as he watched the blond. “The rules were simple, yet he refused to follow them and chose to listen to his heart instead.”

Motoya studied Kiyoomi’s face for a minute. “Have you ever been in love, Kiyo?” The seriousness in his voice forced Kiyoomi to look at him. “I think you have no idea what it’s like to want someone that badly.” His brown eyes had an inexplicable sadness in them like he was the one in pain and not Orpheus.

He was right, Kiyoomi didn’t know what it was like to have feelings so strong for someone else. He had a few affairs but none of them ever became something more, something steady and strong enough to handle his mannerisms. That had never been a problem, Kiyoomi was used to being alone; relationships demanded time and dedication, things he wasn’t willing to give away that easily.

Yet, if he said Motoya’s words didn’t hurt him, he would be lying.

The play ended when Atsumu was nowhere in sight, only his voice echoing from the back to tell the people how Orpheus accepted his death to be finally reunited with Eurydice. He thanked the audience one more time for their presence and asked the gods for their blessing.

During Kiyoomi’s third visit to the theatron, Motoya was not with him, claiming to be too tired from his work to follow Kiyoomi in his cultural adventures.

That night’s story was about a warrior who had been forced to engage in a life or death duel against his lover, another man.

Homosexuality had never been a taboo in Ancient Greece, its aspects being widely explored by many local writers and sculptors, and even represented within the gods, like Achilles and Patroclus. Love or sexual desire wasn’t limited by gender, however, relationships between two adult males was still widely criticized by society. Maybe that explained why there were a total of five men at the theatron.

If he had to be honest, Kiyoomi would have to admit he was more interested in men than women, although both had their respectives advantages and disadvantages. He wasn’t capable of saying what exactly attracted him more, was it their husky voices or well-built bodies, yet there was something completely hypnotizing about men. Kiyoomi had no reason whatsoever to hide his sexuality but he wasn’t the type of person to act on his desires either, so he chose to admire them from afar most of the time.

At the end of Atsumu’s play, his lover had been killed by his hands in a brutal and emotional confrontation. The actor was again nowhere in sight, as death was prohibited from being enacted.

Kiyoomi offered him a round of applause and started to make his way back home when a loud voice caught his attention.

“Hey, you! Pretty guy with black curly hair, wait a minute!”

He turned slowly to the sound of that familiar voice, meeting a face he wished to know for a while now. It had to be him. Who else would have a hair like that? Bright blond waves that framed his sharpened features perfectly, not a single strand out of place despite the thin layer of sweat covering his tanned skin, possibly from the heat created by the mask he wore. His eyes were like jewelry from the aristocrats, beautiful and unattainable. And Kiyoomi was instantly enamored by them, not that he would ever admit that out loud.

“I’ve seen you around. Do you have a thing for my amazing acting skills maybe? Are you a poet? A writer?”

Kiyoomi huffed, slightly annoyed by the man’s questions and his attitude. “No, but you’re not the first to tell me that I look like one.”

“Miya Atsumu, though you may already know that.” He extended his hand, which Kiyoomi purposely ignored.

“Sakusa Kiyoomi.”

“Is it okay if I call you Omi?” Atsumu asked and received nothing more than a stern cold gaze in return.

“No.”

“Omi-Omi?” Kiyoomi didn’t know if Atsumu was blind or just an idiot for ignoring the clear signs of his displeasure.

“That’s even worse.”

Atsumu grinned like a child who had just pranked a friend. “Great! So, Omi-Omi, what did you think about the plays? What’s your favorite so far?”

Kiyoomi was deep in thought, allowing himself to have a minute of peace before breaking the silence. “Apollo’s myth.”

“That’s my favorite one too!” Atsumu seemed genuinely happy. “Guess the first impression was good, since you came back to see me,” he teased.

Kiyoomi’s eyebrows were hidden behind his hair now and he smirked at the blond. “Getting cocky, Atsumu? Who said I was there to see you?” Two could play that type of game.

Atsumu shrugged. “I haven’t seen you anywhere else. I watch my colleagues’ plays and you’re never there.”

The subject was dropped as Kiyoomi could feel the blood running faster through his veins. “You’re insufferable. Is your ego always that big or are you rehearsing to be Narcissus?”

“Just waiting for them to handle me the part.” Atsumu placed both hands behind his head as he casually walked beside Kiyoomi. “The next one will be a short monologue about finding meaning in life. Next week, at one,” he bit his bottom lip, looking at Kiyoomi’s profile from the corner of his eyes and waiting for him to say something.

He didn’t, so Atsumu asked. “Are you coming?”

“I can’t, have to work.”

Atsumu tried to pretend he wasn’t disappointed, though his broken voice possibly made that task hard to be accomplished. “That’s too bad,” he sighed. “What do you do?”

“Farmer. Barley, mostly. My cousin is trying to convince me to start on grapes.” Kiyoomi had his arms loosely crossed at his chest and curiously looked at Atsumu when he gasped.

“Wait a minute. That guy who’s usually with you is your cousin?” He sounded almost relieved and half hopeful but Kiyoomi simply ignored that.

“Yes, that’s Motoya.”

And then, Atsumu started to laugh uncontrollably, his whole body shaking in enthusiasm. There were unshed tears in his eyes and a hand fell on Kiyoomi’s shoulder for balance. “I feel really stupid right now.”

“Thought that was an understatement.” Kiyoomi mentioned and Atsumu whined loudly.

“Omi! Don’t be so mean!”

“I’ll think about it when you stop being so annoying,” Kiyoomi snickered, moving further from Atsumu and making him stumble.

Only when they arrived at Kiyoomi’s house the man noticed that Atsumu had walked along with him even though he doubted it was part of his path home. The gesture was undeniably sweet, although Atsumu’s presence had proven to be a test to Kiyoomi’s nerves.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Kiyoomi mentioned.

“Do what? I have no idea what you’re talking about, Omi.” Atsumu could be a great actor but was, in fact, a terrible liar. Kiyoomi wasn’t sure what gave him away, that stupid grin plastered on his face or the playful tone of his voice.

Kiyoomi couldn’t help but chuckle. “Of course you don’t.”

Atsumu turned around and took a single step before changing his mind. “Hey, it was nice meeting you, Omi. I hope to see you again soon.”

“Good night, Atsumu,” Kiyoomi nodded and walked inside with a tiny smile on his face; not that he would ever admit that, too.

And they kept talking - or bickering, about silly things, sharing facts about themselves that most people would consider simply useless like one’s favorite weather or color. Their meetings usually happened after Atsumu’s plays, but weren’t limited to that; meaningless night strolls and offerings to temples were also part of those. Always some kind of late night activity when Kiyoomi wasn’t too busy feeding on wild animals.

Kiyoomi soon learned that Atsumu had always dreamed about becoming a famous actor and his family used to make offerings to the gods, praying they’d grant his wishes. Atsumu told Kiyoomi his mother taught him to play the lyre and the kithara, complaining about how his fingers hurt at the beginning but now they barely suffered any damage from the strings. Kiyoomi shared about the stories he read, the things his grandparents left him before passing away. He told Atsumu about his work, about the farm he inherited from his father and promised to make it prosper.

Surprisingly, despite Atsumu’s obnoxiousness and lack of understanding about personal space, he was a person whom Kiyoomi felt comfortable talking to, as strange as it sounded. He had an energy similar to Motoya’s but brighter, pettier; Kiyoomi thought they’d get along if they’d meet.

But they wouldn’t, because Atsumu was leaving.

Kiyoomi heard the news five months after the start of what was now a reasonable friendship, one that sometimes consisted of hands brushing and soft stolen glances. A friendship that had everything to be a failure, an explosion, a disaster, akin to the impact of a meteorite, but instead blossomed amidst their adversities and shifted into something light, into meaningless bickering and late night conversations.

“Omi, you’ll never guess what happened today.” Atsumu left the stage house to meet Kiyoomi, who patiently waited for him. The blond still had a towel wrapped around his neck as he used it to dry his recently washed face.

“Another extravagant gift from your fans?” Kiyoomi asked.

“No! God, no. The last one still gives me nightmares,” he laughed and Kiyoomi shivered from just thinking about it. People could be really disgusting sometimes.

“So, will you tell me?”

Instead of answering, Atsumu reached for Kiyoomi’s wrist and started dragging him through a different path. “Come, I wanna show you a place and then I’ll tell you there.”

Kiyoomi sighed, staring at the broadness of Atsumu’s back, eyes traveling down to the curve of Atsumu’s fingers around his wrist. His grip was gentle, yet firm, as if he had no intentions of letting Kiyoomi go.

Still, he did.

Atsumu led them to a tiny hill next to Apollo’s temple. He covered the grass with his himation like it was a blanket and suggested for Kiyoomi to take a seat next to him.

It was quiet around them, only the sounds provided my Mother Nature and a few scattered wild animals filling the comfortable silence that embraced them like the arms of Gaia. What caught Kiyoomi’s attention was the outstanding number of fireflies flying around them, illuminating their surroundings with a fluorescent greenish light. The torches lit around Apollo’s temple helped to ease the cold wind responsible for ruffling their hair.

Atsumu’s teeth were gnawing on his bottom lip. He was nervous, Kiyoomi could tell that much.

“It’s a very beautiful place. Do you come here a lot?”

Atsumu hummed, shoulders dropping considerably, the tension now not so obvious. “Sometimes, yes. Usually before a tough play or after them, to thank him for granting my parent’s prayers. And mine’s too, I guess.”

“I see.”

“A playwright from Rome came to see me today and he offered me a job there. Can you believe this? My acting practically crossed the fucking ocean, Omi.” A breathless laugh left his mouth, not yet believing this was real. “He wants me to be his main actor. This feels so unreal.”

Kiyoomi smiled softly. “Congratulations, Atsumu,” he played with the loose threads of Atsumu’s mantle. “When are you leaving?”

“That’s…” Atsumu cleared his throat, trying to untie the knot that trapped his voice inside. “Tomorrow,” he forced the words out in a helpless gasp.

The honey colored eyes that seemed so happy a few minutes ago now revealed nothing but sadness. It was an odd sight to see, especially for a man who could be easily compared to the sun because of his constant energy, who shined brighter than the moon hanging above them. Kiyoomi watched a single tear falling from the corner of Atsumu’s eye.

“Shouldn’t you be happy? This is what you’ve been dreaming of your whole life.”

Atsumu huffed, quickly shifting his gaze to the temple. “I just wish I had more time.” A thousand different emotions could be seen swimming freely on his troubled face but Kiyoomi couldn’t identify any of them. Atsumu was still a puzzle after all, one Kiyoomi never managed to solve, not even a single piece after five months.

“I think we could’ve been good together,” Atsumu said, now staring directly into Kiyoomi’s eyes. “But that doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Atsumu…”

“It’s okay, Omi. I’m glad I could at least meet you.” Atsumu’s movements were slow as he approached Kiyoomi’s static figure. He leaned towards him and searched for a repulsive sign on his face. When he found none, Atsumu exhaled against the other’s lips.

“Can I give you a goodbye kiss, Kiyoomi? That’s all I ask.”

Kiyoomi noticed his hands were trembling when they touched the back of Atsumu’s neck. His fingers got lost between those golden bright locks and they were even softer than he had thought. He could feel Atsumu’s pulse, his heart was beating erratically, faster than the flap of a mockingbird’s wing.

“Yes,” he mumbled before pulling Atsumu towards him and sealing their lips together.

The kiss was chaste and soft, nothing Kiyoomi expected from someone like Atsumu. His lips were warm and smooth, a bit wet due to how Atsumu constantly touched them with his teeth. Kiyoomi felt his unhurried heartbeat increasing its pace and pressed himself closer, chasing that source of heat like a moth attracted to flames; destined to burn. He savored every second, drank every drop of it like kissing Atsumu was his favorite poison, his favorite type of blood.

Time seemed to freeze around them, its gears only starting to work again when Atsumu broke the sweet gesture, smiling widely against Kiyoomi’s mouth.

Kiyoomi silently watched as Atsumu stood up and offered him a hand. “May I walk you to your house one last time, too?”

“I thought a kiss was all you wanted,” Kiyoomi said, but reached for Atsumu’s hand anyway.

Atsumu grinned. “I lied.”

None of them dared to say anything that would disrupt the silence during their walk. No words could even come close to explain the overwhelming feelings running through their heads. Kiyoomi could still listen to Atsumu’s pulse, a constant lullaby playing at an unsteady rhythm. It was soothing, a melody he wanted to keep on repeat, always at his disposal.

Atsumu pressed a kiss against Kiyoomi’s knuckles when they reached his front door.

“Good luck with your new life, Atsumu.”

“Wait for me on our next one, will you, Omi?”

Barely Atsumu knew that no matter how many lives he had, Kiyoomi would always be doomed to the same one, to those memories that would never leave him, to moments that would be committed to memory instead of being simply forgotten, to a life that would last for eternity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:  
> 1\. [Chiton](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/f/f0/Young_man_exomis_Musei_Capitolini_MC892.jpg)  
> 2\. A zoster is literally a belt  
> 3\. [Himation](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/proxy/iRuQJv87rD9Qp2hYhu2QcL8HA3qteYfnFYn4OtlsQX1sHkfSLDCoLtkwQMWGueIxEB1yE4zYQ4e5I2ehAoX6gTSqd9bEPvAJzzkzR56JIAVghON-o9Q5kYhjw2VG56enoFPuDK0mDpukpu73) (You can use this with or without any clothes underneath)  
> 4\. [theatron](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/0/05/GriechTheater2.PNG/800px-GriechTheater2.PNG)


	3. Middle Ages (I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags and rating updated! (Please check them)
> 
> Thank you for everyone who's being so supportive of this story!
> 
> Tw // blood, violence and character death
> 
> Enjoy!

Kiyoomi felt like a pilgrim moving from city to city after twenty years so no one wouldn’t notice they still looked like young adults with no signs of wrinkles. Motoya was the one who suffered the most, he got attached to people and his jobs, he embraced the place’s culture and became a part of each society. He enjoyed his life as much as he could, loved someone deeply until his heart begged him to stop only to have it broken at the end. Motoya was a stubborn child who never learned his lesson while Kiyoomi was the one who always listened and respected his elders.

Kiyoomi didn’t get close to others because he knew leaving would be the only remaining option.

And he had to learn that the hard way.

More than a thousand years had passed and Kiyoomi still dreamed about a pair of almond-shaped eyes which could only be described as gemstones, two sparkly topazes. Whenever a blond crossed his way, Kiyoomi wished they would turn out to be the man who persecuted his dreams. At the end, however, his hands were empty, tingling from the ghost of a touch he once had. He wondered if Atsumu had accomplished his wishes and if he had a life worth living, full of all the love and success he truly deserved. Fame had eventually reached him, and Kiyoomi knew that because people liked to talk about the boy who started in Greece and made his way to Rome.

All that was left for Kiyoomi was to wish for his happiness, wherever Miya Atsumu was.

A knock on his door forced his mind back to the 5th century he was currently in.

“Lord Kiyoomi? Can I come in?” He recognized Motoya’s voice.

“Of course,” Kiyoomi answered.

He frowned when his cousin walked inside and bowed. To anyone else that would be a polite gesture but Kiyoomi knew Motoya was internally mocking him. “I told you there’s no need to call me that when it’s just us.”

“Nonsense! I’m being respectful since you’re technically my lord,” he waved Kiyoomi off with a hand and kept the silliest grin plastered on his face.

Kiyoomi raised an eyebrow at that. “Oh, so now you’re my vassal? Where were you last week when I needed a few things to be taken care of while I was having a meeting with the king?”

“Eh…” Motoya scratched the back of his neck, eyes moving desperately from one side to another to avoid Kiyoomi’s question. “Let’s just say I was busy.”

A huff left Kiyoomi’s slightly parted lips. “I’ll make sure to take a look at your duties later on.” One last time, Kiyoomi’s eyes drifted to the large window in his bedroom and a tiresome puff of air left his lungs.

“Thinking about him again? Atsumu?” Motoya questioned and Kiyoomi seemed half surprised by his sagacity.

“How did you…” He was about to ask when Motoya spoke.

“You get a sad look in your eyes when you think about him,” he explained. “You may fool yourself but you can’t fool me, Kiyo. I’ve been with you for more than a thousand years now.” Motoya sat by his side on the bed and ruffled Kiyoomi’s messy curls. “I hate to see you pouting, little cousin, so cheer up! Who knows, maybe life will give you another chance.”

Kiyoomi pried Motoya’s hands away from his hair. “You think his reincarnation will show up at my doorstep just like that?”

Motoya shrugged. “I’ve seen it happening. You don’t believe in reincarnations, do you?”

Kiyoomi’s skepticism came back to haunt his black and white world. He was a child who grew up not believing in gods to become a man with no faith and no beliefs. A scientist by nature, some would say; seeing is believing and all that. Death was a process every living thing had to go through and there was nothing beyond that; a moment when the curtains close and darkness would accept you in its cold arms. Your body would then decompose and the cycle would be finished. No heaven or hell, no soul ascending to another realm. So no, reincarnation wasn’t something Kiyoomi believed in. There was no logic behind a person’s essence being transferred to a newborn after they die. That was not how life was supposed to work.

At the same time, Kiyoomi had never believed in vampires too, and look at the situation he currently found himself in.

No answer was needed since Motoya was already aware of how Kiyoomi’s mind worked.

Kiyoomi made his way to his wardrobe and picked up a pair of dark green breeches and a white tunic to cover his naked torso. As he fastened a leather belt around his waist, Motoya’s voice once again filled the uncomfortable silence.

“So tell me about your meeting with king Ushijima.”

“Seems like there’s a lord giving him trouble lately. A man called Terushima, If I’m not mistaken. Ever heard of him?” Motoya shook his head and stopped by the doorway of Kiyoomi’s bathroom, watching him go through his skin care routine even though he knew it was useless. “Besides that, apparently the church is gathering a few knights to recover the Holy Land and fight against heresy. That’s what they’re saying at least, but if you ask me, it’s an excuse to hide their politics bullshit.”

“Did he ask for your knights as well?” Kiyoomi rolled his eyes before answering.

“Yes, but I told him I’d think about it. I don’t want the church borrowing my men for their selfish reasons.” Water cascaded down his face and he extended a hand at Motoya; a silent request for a towel.

“You’re the only one who would say no to a king and act like it’s not a big deal, Kiyo.” Motoya shook his head, astonished by Kiyoomi’s boldness. “You’re lucky he likes you.”

Kiyoomi dried his face, showing no signs of emotions as he stared back at his cousin.

“Ushijima is a good king, we have similar thoughts. Therefore, I trust his judgement.”

Indeed, Kiyoomi told no lies. Ushijima had been ruling that part of Northern Italy for five years now and people commonly referred to him as a fair and honest man. His rules were strict but he was far from being a tyrant, and he never disrespected the peasants. He was a smart and political man, keeping his friends close and enemies even closer. Dealing with Ushijima was like defusing a bomb, cutting one wrong wire could be your last move. And you definitely wouldn’t want to be there when that explosion happened.

Kiyoomi sat back on the bed to put his leather boots, which made Motoya curious. “Are you going out?”

“Yes, I have some errands to run. I’m going to visit a few fiefs and check our crops.”

Motoya handed him a black beret to shield Kiyoomi’s face from the sun. “Don’t you have peasants to do that for you?”

“I like to see things with my own eyes.” Kiyoomi folded the long sleeves of his tunic and turned to Motoya. “Now be a good vassal and fetch my horse.”

“Yes, Lord Kiyoomi.” Motoya teased but did as it was asked.

The truth was Kiyoomi hated going out. He hated dealing with people, even if they were his vassals. He hated the flattery and the gifts people offered him when he was around. There were always new problems to deal with and peasants whimpering about their conditions - Kiyoomi was a good lord but humans always wanted more than they currently had. Kiyoomi despised people’s greediness, how they hid food behind their backs and still asked for more, how they declared their love to a person while looking at somebody else, how they stood at the top of the highest mountains and aimed for the skies. Humans spent their whole lives searching for more instead of being satisfied with what they had, and when they least expected that same life would end, cold bodies trapped inside a coffin with nowhere else to go. An intrinsic behaviour, Kiyoomi would say, since he saw civilizations falling and rising repeatedly yet human’s actions remained the same.

“Let’s go back home, Spirit.” Kiyoomi patted his horse’s mane, earning a soft neigh or two in return.

On his way back to the castle, Kiyoomi closed his eyes to the gentle breeze caressing his face, opening the doors to the winds so they could roam freely. Spirit’s pulse could be felt under Kiyoomi’s fingertips and that was enough to ground him; a constant reminder of his current life and the uncontrollable need to feed. The sky was cloudy but the weather was sultry, enough to burn Kiyoomi’s face if not for his beret.

Everything was peaceful until he reached his fief. There was a ruckus in front of the castle’s gate, where five of his knights were gathered around something - or someone, Kiyoomi couldn’t tell. The noises increased as he approached the situation; whispered insults, foul language and a great number of threats. Kiyoomi saw a man on his knees with his hands tied on his back and face on the ground, he looked filthy and Kiyoomi snickered at the sight of his despicable state.

“Lord Kiyoomi, thank God you’re here,” said one of his men. “We caught this rat trespassing your territory and stealing from your crops, my Lord.”

Kiyoomi got down from his horse and gestured for his vassals to move. He approached the man slowly and tapped his chin with the tip of his boot, a silent request for him to face the man who stood above him.

When their eyes met, Kiyoomi felt his heart stopping and the blood instantly left his face, making it even paler under the sunlight that now hit him, as if Kiyoomi had just seen a ghost. Could that be a trick of his foolish mind? Or a mirage as he stood once again lost admits the scorching desert’s sands.

He would recognize those eyes anywhere, no matter how many hundreds of years went by. Those were the same orbs responsible for uncountable sleepless nights, the ones who followed him close like the shadow he once had during the day and harshly invaded his dreams at night. They had the same color, a hazel that held enough warmth to melt a dozen ice cubes. The same almond shape, the same mischievous sparkle.

Those eyes belonged to Miya Atsumu, undoubtedly. But how could that be even possible? Miya Atsumu had died thousands of years ago and yet that man was so similar to him that could easily be called his brother. The man’s short hair was dark brown, bangs covering his forehead and making his face even thinner, with cheekbones as sharp as a knife and that devilish smirk Kiyoomi learned to hate dancing on his plump lips.

“Give me a good reason why I shouldn’t cut off your head right now.” His voice was cold, no visible sign of emotions despite the raging storm inside his head. Kiyoomi turned the man’s face from one side to the other with his foot, still flustered by this man’s figure.

“I know how to wield a sword better than most of your men.” His voice was rough, a contrast to his boyish appearance. And just like Atsumu’s, it sounded different, a foreign accent.

Kiyoomi pressed the sole of his boot harder against the man’s cheek, rubbing it on the ground. “And what makes you think that a peasant like you is better than my knights?” He hissed, annoyed by the man’s insolence.

“I’m no peasant, my Lord.” The man moved abruptly, trying to set his hands free while sending Kiyoomi a mocking glare.

Kiyoomi hummed. “Yet you’re dressed just like one, so why should I believe you?”

The man chuckled, slowly moving his tongue across his bottom lip. “It’s easier to run away as a peasant.”

“Who are you running from?” Kiyoomi allowed the man to breathe air instead of dust, removing the foot previously on his face.

“Terushima. Ever heard of him?” Kiyoomi nodded and the man kept speaking. “He’s going insane. People like him shouldn’t be given that much power.”

“How many days since you left?” Kiyoomi’s arms were crossed at his chest.

“Seven. I was hiding in the forest nearby until this morning so he wouldn’t find me. I was hungry and your farm was the first thing I came across.”

“And you want me to give you shelter?” Kiyoomi would be lying if he said the man didn’t make him curious. How could Kiyoomi ignore him when he reminded him so much of the man he wished he could forget?

“Make me one of yours,” said the man. “Give me a sword and I’ll show you what I’m capable of.” There was no hesitation in his saccharine voice. He was either a very good liar or an incredibly skillful swordsman.

The man threw the line and Kiyoomi took the bait.

“Fine.” Kiyoomi swiftly scanned the vassals at his disposal and pointed at one of them randomly. “You, untie this man and fight him.”

When the man was at his feet, whining about his knees, Kiyoomi turned to him. “If you kill him, his fiefs are yours.”

The duel didn’t last much as the man clearly told no lies when bragging about his sword wielding skills. He danced like the wind around his opponent with quick and sleek movements, hands closed in a tight grip around the sword’s hilt. His body arched to the side, escaping from a blow that could’ve been fatal, and piercing the vassal’s armor in a counter attack. The unknown man’s fighting style was clean despite his filthy state; a prodigy or a hard worker, people would call him. His eyes burned with a certain desire Kiyoomi thought was deeply familiar, such as the playful smile that never once left his lips.

He fought like someone who was having fun.

When the vassal’s body hit the ground in a loud thud, all eyes turned to the man who now kneeled at Koyoomi’s feet.

“What’s your name?” Kiyoomi asked, barely hiding the smile that tugged his mouth upward without his permission.

This time there was no mischief in the man’s voice as he replied.

“Miya Atsumu, my Lord.”

Kiyoomi inhaled sharply, heartbeat increasing its pace as he picked up his own sword with unstable hands and placed it carefully on Miya Atsumu’s shoulder.

“Upon the blessing of my blade and by the power vested in me, I, Sakusa Kiyoomi, now nominate you, Miya Atsumu, my vassal. You shall swear to protect my fiefs at all costs and always be at my disposal to fight against any injustice found in these lands.”

Their eyes locked and the rest of the world blurred like a scene only described in the novels Kiyoomi usually read. All Kiyoomi could see was Atsumu’s eyes staring right back at him. All he could feel was the steady slow thumps of his aching heart. All he could hear were Atsumu’s words ringing over and over again inside his head.

“I swear from now on to protect you and this land with my own life, Lord Kiyoomi.”

At that moment, nothing else mattered.

Kiyoomi barged into his room and soon requested one of his vassals to find Motoya and send him over as quickly as possible. Urgent matters awaited him, especially the one labeled with Miya Atsumu’s name. How could he be there in flesh and bones as if nothing ever happened thousand of years ago? How dared his presence to bring up Kiyoomi’s long buried memories? He refused to believe in it the moment he saw him but the moment his name left those lips, Kiyoomi knew it would be useless to pretend he wasn’t real.

With his fingers interlocked and elbows on the table, Kiyoomi tried to control his tormented thoughts and the tingling sensation on his fingertips. An underlying desire to reach out and touch Atsumu to satisfy the craving Kiyoomi had kept locked inside his coffin for way too long. At the same time, Kiyoomi knew this Atsumu was nothing like the previous one, they had a completely different aura despite the similar aesthetics, so who could guarantee they shared the same personality traits at all? And even if he proved to be the same Miya Atsumu from before, in the end wouldn’t they be fated to the same cold destiny from years ago? Death’s insasiatable scythe was lurking by the shadows just waiting for a chance to strike its fatal blow and take Atsumu’s lifeless body while Kiyoomi would watch the scene unfold from afar. No good would come of opening his Pandora’s box and unleashing all his irrelevant feelings.

That’s why Kiyoomi decided to keep them locked.

A creaking sound from the door announced Motoya’s presence an hour or so later. Kiyoomi’s eyes went to him in a flash and Motoya was surprised by how feral they were.

“Hey, what’s wrong, Kiyo? Are you okay?” Motoya walked until he was standing close enough to touch Kiyoomi, but chose not to.

“Did you see him?”

“Who? What’s going on?” Motoya looked for answers on Kiyoomi’s impassive face, finding absolutely nothing.

“Atsumu. Miya fucking Atsumu is here,” he mumbled furiously, eyes back on the table’s wooden surface.

Motoya let out a shy laugh, almost like a breathless gasp. “Really? The same Miya Atsumu we met in Athens?”

Kiyoomi shook his head. “No, he’s different and doesn’t seem to have any memories of his previous lives too. Just like a reincarnation.” His gaze fell on Motoya’s face, bubbling anger widening his pupils.

“What? You think I have something to do with this?” Motoya pointed at himself in disbelief. “That’s insane! I have no such powers, Kiyoomi. This is life giving you a second chance, shouldn’t you be happy and running to the arms of your beloved?”

“They are not the same person. Besides, he’s my vassal now and I would never stoop so low as to do something that would surely ruin my reputation as a lord.”

Motoya’s hands gripped Kiyoomi’s shoulders hard. “Are you listening to yourself right now? Do you have any idea how many people would die to be in your position? You have the upper hand and are about to make the same mistake again.” Kiyoomi could feel the recent bruises on the skin underneath his tunic from the pressure of Motoya’s fingers.

“This has nothing to do with you, Motoya,” Kiyoomi growled, fangs coming down slowly like his cousin was now considered a threat and no longer a friend. “Just shut the fuck up.” He roughly pried Motoya’s hands from his shoulder and stood up, using his imposing height to his own advantage.

But Motoya was stronger, easily closing a hand around Kiyoomi’s tunic and pulling him down to keep him at eye level. “I’m trying to be a good friend to you, asshole. I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did.” His upper canines were fully exposed, daring Kiyoomi to do something. “I don’t want to fight you but I will if I have to, Kiyoomi.”

“I don’t need your help.” Kiyoomi brushed Motoya’s hands away and retracted his fangs. He looked through the window, noticing the sun was almost setting, and said “I’m heading out.”

“Kiyoomi…” Motoya tried to reach for him but he was already at the door.

“Don’t,” Kiyoomi whispered. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

Spirit guided Kiyoomi to the forest nearby as if he knew what his owner was in need of at that moment.

There were reasons why Kiyoomi chose to settle in the castle he currently lived in. First, it was far from other fiefs, meaning he could have some privacy and would be less bothered by other lords who wished to expand their territories. Privacy also meant Kiyoomi and Motoya could freely roam through the fiefs in search of food and nobody would bother them. And that’s where the forest came into the equation. The trees were tall, their canopies overlapping one another and casting large shadows on the people who dared to come inside. There wasn’t much flora around since the sunrays barely reached the grassy ground, and the humidity usually made Kiyoomi uncomfortable. Nonetheless, it was also a place where a great variety of wild animals lived; a feast for a couple of starving vampires.

Kiyoomi sank his teeth into a middle-sized boar after an easy fight, its fur tickling his nose and chin as the taste of its blood filled his mouth yet didn’t quite satisfy the hunger Kiyoomi felt. Maybe he wasn’t feeling hungry at all, maybe something about Atsumu’s presence ignited a fire thus far extinguished that now burned Kiyoomi from the inside out. A consuming, eternal flame, as crimson as the blood now coursing through his bloodstream and as lively as Kiyoomi’s wildests instincts. An irrational craving for something Kiyoomi couldn’t exactly pinpoint what yet it was there, silently wandering through his body and waiting for the perfect opportunity to show up when he least expected it to.

He sat with his back against a tree trunk and cleaned the remaining blood spots on the corner of his mouth, the boar’s lifeless body long forgotten by his side. His head tilted toward the sky, or what he could see from it through the treetops that blocked his sight, and a heavy sigh left his parted lips. Exhaustion dug its way into his bones and decided that there would be a good place to stay, forcing Kiyoomi to gather his new found energy and head back to his castle.

Upon arriving, Kiyoomi noticed a silhouette near the stable’s entrance. The man had a bottle of rum between his hands and looked curiously when Spirit walked his way through.

“Couldn’t find the path to your fief, Atsumu?” Of course it had to be him.

He went silent for a second. Kiyoomi wasn’t sure of how inebriated he was.

“Not really. I think the days in the forest made me miss the animals.” Atsumu answered, his speech slightly slurred, possibly from the alcohol now in his veins. He was next to Motoya’s horse stall, leaning against the wood. “People say there’s a beast living inside that forest. Sometimes I could hear the animals crying in agony, pleading for their lives.”

Kiyoomi gulped, his throat feeling dry all of a sudden. He brought Spirit to his stall and caressed his forehead gently before closing the door.

“Never thought you were one to believe in folktales.”

Atsumu shrugged, almost losing his balance and falling clumsily into a hay pile. “There’s a lot of obscure things we don’t know about out there.”

Kiyoomi huffed, barely keeping himself from rolling his eyes. “Stick to the things you can see, Atsumu.”

“Where were you headed to in the middle of the night?” Atsumu bluntly asked.

“That’s none of your concern, vassal.”

There was a smirk on Atsumu’s face, a know-it-all expression Kiyoomi instantly hated. “The dirt on your shoes and grass on your tunic, which is also a bit damp, tells me you went to the forest,” he chuckled the moment his eyes met Kiyoomi’s. “Gotta stick to what I can see, isn’t that right, Lord Kiyoomi?”

Kiyoomi’s voice was as cold as an icicle perforating Atsumu’s skin. “Get the fuck out of my stable or else I’ll make sure you never see the light of day again.” He passed by Atsumu without even sparing him a single glance, hoping he would be gone in the morning; from his castle and maybe from his life, too.

Since Atsumu showed up three months ago, Kiyoomi’s mind had been restless. There were no more peaceful days as those were overwritten by his constant frustrations and a great number of sleepless nights. Motoya still refused to even look at him most of the time, barely acknowledging Kiyoomi’s existence and only doing so when there were other vassals around. And his relationship with Atsumu was, for the lack of a better word, odd. They still talked to each other, as it was expected of a vassal and his lord to do so. Their conversations were purely cordial and business related, not at all carefree and open-minded like they used to be in Atsumu’s previous life.

Kiyoomi noticed, however, that a few of Atsumu’s characteristics hadn’t changed within time. He was still as loud and obnoxious as ever, though a little more respectful now - even if only when there were other people around; and that unquestionable passion he possessed still made itself seen in every little thing he did. The familiar glint in his eyes when faced with a new challenge, the well-known desire to jump through his own obstacles and give his all to become the best, and the consequent annoyance that creeped onto his face when others didn’t do the same.

It was like meeting that same Miya Atsumu from years ago through a whole different point of view.

There were papers all over Kiyoomi’s desk, letters from king Ushijima and contracts to be signed regarding Kiyoomi’s recently acquired fief. An old lamp bathed the right side of Kiyoomi’s face in a dim coppery light as he focused on writing the king’s reply on a blank paper sheet.

A loud knock on his door startled him.

“Lord Kiyoomi? I apologise for troubling you at a time like this, but a few of your vassals have been injured doing a confrontation and they may require medical assistance.”

The door opened almost instantly, the man behind it almost falling backwards.

“How many?” Kiyoomi asked with a frown on his lips.

“Five in total, my Lord. But only two were severely injured.”

Kiyoomi nodded quietly. “Take me to them.”

As they approached the castle’s entrance, Kiyoomi could feel the smell of blood that had been previosuly tickling his nose now crashing violently into him like multiple piercing blows from a knight’s lance. He pressed his lips together forming a thin tight line and made his way through the small crowd of people. The sight of blood was even more tempting than its scent, and it was everywhere; on the floor, on his vassal’s clothes, on their skin. Kiyoomi felt his mouth starting to ache, fangs attempting to make their way down but Kiyoomi knew how to control them well, such as his vicious instincts. It took him little to no effort to calm down from the initial shock and check on his men.

A few of them were already being treated by their comrades, ointment being spread on their bruises quite desperately and bandages circling them right after. One stubborn vassal refused any kind of help and tried to mend his wounds by himself only to fail miserably. Kiyoomi would have laughed if he hadn’t noticed the strong scent of blood arising from his body, a sign of how badly injured he actually was.

“Who did this to you?” Kiyoomi demanded an answer but his men refused to give him any, nervously looking at each other as if deciding who would be the one to break the news.

“Terushima’s knights, my Lord.” The stubborn one, Miya Atsumu, spoke. “They were after me and the others tried to intervene.”

“We were trying to protect you, Atsumu.” One of the others said.

Atsumu rolled his eyes at him. “I told you I could handle them by myself! If I didn’t have to look out for you I could have done that without a single scratch.” His face twisted in pain as he pressed a hand against his side.

“That’s enough.” Kiyoomi’s imposing voice echoed through the walls. “Someone go to the city and bring back a doctor to check for any possible infections, please let me know when he arrives. The people who were injured are welcome to stay here for the night.” His eyes moved to the wall where Atsumu was leant against. “And you are coming with me.”

Kiyoomi stood by Atsumu’s side and offered him a hand. “Can you stand?” Atsumu nodded weakly and braced himself on the wall until he was standing on his feet.

“Follow me, then.”

Although Kiyoomi was known for his rudeness, he was also a man secretly recognized by his kindness. He wasn’t open about it, however, choosing to show his intentions through his acts instead of using words. Despite the initial bluntness, Kiyoomi’s vassals knew he meant well, a man whom they could trust with their own lives if needed. And that kind of loyalty was something deeply appreciated by Kiyoomi since he had had bad experiences with traitorous vassals.

Kiyoomi led Atsumu through the castle’s hallways until they reached an empty guest room near his own. “You can sleep here tonight.” He opened the door and made a hand gesture for him to go inside. “Make yourself comfortable and get rid of these bloody clothes so I can treat your wounds. I’ll be back in a minute.”

The door closed behind Kiyoomi and he inhaled deeply. Even though he could control his instincts, that didn’t mean it was an easy task to be accomplished, especially when the person was standing so terribly close to him. He quickly recomposed himself and picked up some ointment, bandages, a pair of gloves and a needle in his room before making his way back to where his greatest temptation was.

The smell was even stronger now that Atsumu’s wound was exposed, and Kiyoomi felt his mouth watering at the sight of it. Atsumu was on the bed, his back resting against the headboard. There was a gash on his side, under his ribs, and other few scratches scattered around his torso and face. Blood soaked the bundled clothes pressed against the wound but its flow was partially stemmed, thankfully. The cut was deep and it would possibly need a few stitches to heal properly. Kiyoomi wished he could lick the wound in order to help with the healing process; an excuse to have a taste of human blood, the most luscious of them all, the one Kiyoomi hadn’t savored yet. He wondered how it would feel to sink his teeth into Atsumu’s neck. Would his body quiver upon his touch? Would he even put up a fight against him or would he let him take and take and take all he had to offer until there was nothing left?

He didn’t notice his hands were trembling until he put his gloves on and brushed Atsumu’s hands aside to clean the bloody wound with a saline solution.

Atsumu hissed in pain the moment the gauze touched his skin.

“You could’ve asked your vassals to do this, you know?”

Kiyoomi barely registered Atsumu’s words, too inebriated by the smell of his blood and too hypnotized by the sound of his pulse.

“I’m aware,” he replied.

“Then why,” Atsumu’s face twisted, fighting against the excruciating pain traveling through his nerves. “Why are you doing this?

“Do I look like the type of person who would leave their injured vassals to die?” Kiyoomi plunged his fingers into an open bottle of ointment and slowly spread its content on Atsumu’s wound.

“Not really.”

Kiyoomi’s eyes met Atsumu’s briefly before resuming his current task. “Then you have your answer.”

Atsumu sighed, eyebrows frowning either in confusion or pain, Kiyoomi couldn’t tell. “But I feel like I’ve been getting some special treatment from you.” His previous doubts were suddenly replaced by a smirk. “Maybe you have fallen for my charms, Lord Kiyoomi?”

Kiyoomi grunted. He couldn’t help but smile at Atsumu’s cockyness. His fingers pressed harder against Atsumu’s wound, who whined in response.

“Don’t be stupid,” he said. “You just remind me of someone.”

“A lover?” Atsumu tried to guess and Kiyoomi corrected him instantly.

“A friend.”

A peaceful silence settled between them before Atsumu spoke in a whisper.

“I know this is going to sound crazy, but I feel like I know you from somewhere.” Atsumu laughed in disbelief, and Kiyoomi scolded him for moving too much when he was in the process of stitching him up. He apologized and relaxed against the headboard, eyes staring aimlessly at the ceiling. “If we haven’t been born in such circumstances, I feel like we could’ve been good friends.”

Kiyoomi was about to open his mouth when someone else’s voice came from the outside. “Lord Kiyoomi? The doctor is here.”

He finished the fifth stitch and cleaned the wound one more time before removing his blood stained gloves. The strong fresh scent had dissipated through the air by now, and that meant breathing became an easier thing to do. Kiyoomi’s instincts, although still present, were no longer a threat.

“You should rest,” Kiyoomi said as he picked up the things he brought from his room. “Stay as long as you need, Atsumu.” He greeted the doctor at the door and told him about the procedures he did and the ointments applied on Atsumu’s injury before leaving him under the doctor’s care.

It took Atsumu two and a half weeks to recover from his wound. In the meantime, Kiyoomi visited him regularly, usually bringing a cup of Atsumu’s favorite beverage - which Kiyoomi learned during his second visit it was apple cider; or his own assignments to work on while listening to Atsumu’s incessant chatter. He appreciated Atsumu’s company, even if most of the time all he did was complain about his current deplorable state. Soon that became the favorite part of Kiyoomi’s commonly boring days, the few hours he spent with Atsumu.

Slowly their conversations were no longer distant but filled with a certain familiarity and warmth, a line they haven’t had the courage to cross until now. The gap between them became less and less evident as the days went by, and soon their relationship didn’t resemble one expected of a lord and his vassal but one shared among old friends instead. Despite Kiyoomi’s intentions of keeping a distance, there was a mysterious magnetic pull that dragged him closer to Atsumu, and Kiyoomi blamed that on how sometimes he could easily picture the same Atsumu who conquered Greece and Rome with his passion into the one who vowed to protect him with his life.

Atsumu returned to his duties as soon as he felt good enough to walk without wincing. During his last night in Kiyoomi’s company, he had offered him a kind smile and a simple ‘thank you’, which was enough to bring back to life Kiyoomi’s almost dead heartbeat.

After so many years, Kiyoomi’s old feelings flourished just the same

Kiyoomi was about to descend the stairs in search of Motoya when one of his vassals ran desperately towards him.

“Lord Kiyoomi, I was about to look for you! It’s an emergency!” The man’s breathing was ragged as he rested both hands on his knees. “It’s Atsumu, my Lord.”

“What happened?” Kiyoomi tried to sound impassive but to no avail

“He received a letter from Lord Terushima. I don’t know the contents of that but he told us he was about to finish things once and for all. We tried to follow him but he threatened to kill us if we did, my Lord.”

Somehow, hearing that didn’t feel like a surprise at all, not for Kiyoomi, not after having the privilege of knowing the truth behind Atsumu’s smugness. He wasn’t the type of man who would back away from a challenge, and if Terushima had been his lord once, he certainly knew which buttons to push to ignite Atsumu’s fire, knew what would make him crumble and what would make him chase after him. Even if that meant walking straight into his cunning trap.

“Ask someone to fetch my horse, right now.” Kiyoomi’s steps were rushed, as if there was not much time left.

He ran down the stairs and met another vassal at the castle’s entrance. The man offered him Spirit’s reins, which Kiyoomi swiftly accepted.

“Do you want us to come with you, my Lord?”

Kiyoomi shook his head. “I’ll be fine, you shall not worry. If you happen to see Motoya, please tell him that I’ll be okay.” He patted Spirit’s side and spurred him forward with his heels. “Let’s go, Spirit.”

The thoughts that crossed Kiyoomi’s mind were as stormy as the wind that cut through his pale cheeks and pushed his hair back forcibly. His heart was beating at an irregular and unusual pace, following the sound of Spirit’s heavy horseshoes against the ground. His surroundings were a mixture of blurred shades of green, black and yellow that simply weren’t important during that crucial moment. He flickered Spirit’s reins and forced him to move faster as he leaned into his horse; no matter their speed, it would never be fast enough to reach him. Could he even get to him on time? Could he prevent a bigger catastrophe from happening right before his eyes? Could he free Atsumu from the destiny that had been traced by a pair of malicious hands?

Could he do something before it was too late?

Images of Atsumu filled Kiyoomi’s head and the sound of his voice echoed inside like a melody he would never get tired of hearing.

“If we haven’t been born in such circumstances, I feel like we could’ve been good friends.”

There were so many things Kiyoomi wanted to say at the time but the words had simply refused to leave his constricted throat, so he had swallowed them down and sent them back to the darkest corners of his mind where they truly belonged. Some steps shouldn’t have been taken and Kiyoomi was aware of how one slip could result in his downfall but he took the risk anyway. He had gotten too close again and that had been his fateful mistake.

Subtle traces of Terushima’s castle could be seen in the distance and Kiyoomi felt his heart was about to burst with sheer anticipation. There was still some time left, he repeated to himself so many times it was bound to become true sooner or later. Everything would be fine and they would go back to Kiyoomi’s castle together, back to their late night conversations and shared cups of apple cider. Back to crossing lines that would be better if left untouched and pretending their relationship was nothing but a subordination between a lord and his vassal.

The first thing Kiyoomi noticed was the unmistakable scent of blood from the knights’ fallen bodies by the castle’s entrance, a one of a kind reception, some would say. He smeared the pool of red over the cobblestone pavement with his foot to see if it was still fresh, as if his sense of smell wasn’t enough to solve that part of the puzzle. The further inside his rushed steps took him, the greater the number of cold corpses lying on the floor and louder were the whispering voices from what Kiyoomi guessed was the place’s great hall.

Kiyoomi searched for a sign of Atsumu in every dark corner and every narrow hallway he stepped in, but much to his displeasure, he found nothing. All he could see was red; red from the blood-stained yellow flags hanging on the walls, red from the fire that ignited his rage, red from the battles those same walls had just witnessed. It became harder and harder to keep track of his own senses as he approached the source of the castle’s voices. Instead of slow and steady, his heartbeat had gone completely out-of-sync, ramming against his ribcage and trying to force its way out. His mouth was slightly parted, giving space to his fangs now fully exposed, ready to attack anyone who dared to cross his path.

When Kiyoomi entered the great hall, all eyes immediately turned to him and the previous noise started to die down gradually.

But there was only one person in Kiyoomi’s sight.

Atsumu’s body was at his feet, motionless and cold to the touch of Kiyoomi’s trembling hands as he kneeled beside him. Atsumu’s hazy eyes were wide open, though they had lost the sparkle they once had, devoided of any trace of life just like his pale skin and bluish fingertips. Kiyoomi’s eyes roamed desperately through his face and body, searching for a sign that would show him this was only a nasty trick of his playful mind or a mistake made by his enhanced senses. When Kiyoomi’s fingers touched Atsumu’s neck, he found no pulse, body as still as his chest, showing no indication of a beating heart.

Suddenly, Kiyoomi was the one wishing they had had more time.

“Atsumu…” He mumbled as his hands traveled back to Atsumu’s face, touching him tenderly and leaning over to press their foreheads together. His own face was twisted in a combination of sorrow and animosity.

“Look who decided to join us, boys!” An unknown voice made its way through and ruined Kiyoomi’s moment. “Poor Atsumu, right? He didn’t even make it through my knights. Such a waste of talent, but I guess he’s better off dead anyway.” The man chuckled. “That’s what he deserved for thinking he could run away from me.” Kiyoomi didn’t have to look at him to know he was smirking when he spoke next. “Would you like to join your precious vassal, Lord Kiyoomi?”

Kiyoomi’s face raised slowly, his gaze as unforgiving as Fate, and as cold as an entire glacier when locked with Terushima’s. He watched as fear took over Terushima’s features inch by inch, his eyes went wide and mouth agape the moment he noticed Kiyoomi’s sharpened fangs.

Kiyoomi reached for Atsumu’s sword and then, the sound of Terushima’s glass of wine clattering against the floor was the last thing he heard before completely giving in to his true nature.

“Get him!” Terushima ordered, but at least half of what there was left of his men had already been murdered by the hands of a vampire.

One by one, Kiyoomi defeated Teruhsima’s knights without taking his eyes off of his main goal. He was merciless, sparing no lives as he grasped onto their necks and pierced Atsumu’s sword through their chests, aiming for their hearts the same way they had aimed for his own by ending Atsumu’s journey in the land of the living. A loud growl left his throat after each life he took, signs of the creature inside of him being set free from its bounding chains.

As the last knight fell, Kiyoomi had lost most of his rationality.

Terushima barely had time to reach for his sword before Kiyoomi’s hands were wrapped tightly around his neck, making him gasp for air in a desperate attempt to stay alive. He shook his head repeatedly, hands clasped around Kiyoomi’s to get rid of his grip but his supernatural strength prevailed. Kiyoomi listened to the sound of Terushima’s frantic heart and felt his quickened pulse under his hands, a temptation for his aching fangs.

With whatever was left of sanity inside Kiyoomi’s mind, he torturously pushed Atsumu’s sword into Terushima’s chest. He watched as Terushima’s emotions changed right before his eyes; despair shifting into agony until there was nothing left to be felt. Terushima choked on his own blood as it dripped from his mouth onto the floor. His eyes slowly closed as he lost consciousness and his body fell limp on Kiyoomi’s hands.

The loud thud of Terushima’s body hitting the ground didn’t seem to have any influence on Kiyoomi’s current disordered state.

He turned to face the bloodshed made by his own hands - or Atsumu’s, as he tried to convey with his acts. There wasn’t a single hint of regret in his cold eyes as he moved across the room and stopped once again by Atsumu’s side.

A handkerchief was picked up from his coat’s pocket and Kiyoomi used it to clean his fingers, pressing them on Atsumu’s face when there were no more risks of staining his skin with the blood of murderous people.

“I have a feeling we could’ve been good friends, too,” Kiyoomi whispered before closing Atsumu’s eyelids carefully, finally giving him some rest. He had seen enough for this lifetime.

When he stood, Kiyoomi caught a glimpse of one breathless Motoya by the great hall’s entrance. His eyes were wide as they shifted from the men on the floor to Kiyoomi, silently asking if the vampire had been the one responsible for this mess.

“Motoya,” Kiyoomi called him, but his eyes never once left Atsumu’s figure. “If anyone asks, Atsumu died as a hero after defeating his previous lord and when we arrived there was no one left to tell us what happened.”

Motoya nodded quietly. “Your eyes are a bit red, Kiyo. You better clean them up before we go,” he offered him his own handkerchief and a sad smile, which Kiyoomi gingerly accepted. “You’re free to cry later if you want to.”

At that, Kiyoomi shook his head. “There is nothing to cry for. He wouldn’t want our pity.” His eyes trailed back to Atsumu one more time before he turned away completely.

As they made their way back to their castle, side by side on their horses, Motoya mumbled. “Do you think he’ll show up again?”

Kiyoomi searched for an answer amidst the dark vastness above them. He smiled as his eyes found Polaris shining brightly and guiding them towards their destination. A gentle wind sweeped his sweaty bangs from his forehead and Kiyoomi closed his eyes to the ghost of a touch on his cheeks, to nature’s whisper right into his ears. It was warm and comforting, like the feeling of someone else’s hands wrapped around his back in a tight hug. Kiyoomi tilted his head to the side, wishing he could lean into that pleasant caress as the breeze brushed past his jaw and moved down to his neck.

But when Kiyoomi opened his eyes, the warmth was gone, as if it had never been there in the first place, leaving him empty and cold instead.

Maybe that was _his_ strange way of saying goodbye and asking Kiyoomi to wait for him in the future.

A good omen after the storm.

“I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIP Terushima
> 
> Thoughts on this chapter? Should I increase the angst or...


	4. Middle Ages (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags updated! Make sure to check them before reading the chapter
> 
> I appreciate all the Kudos/Comments/Bookmarks. You give me motivation to keep sharing my works
> 
> You asked for angst, so there you go
> 
> @Lucian, here's your witch Akaahi! I'm sorry it took me so long to post this
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> TW // Illness, death

In the first 24 years of his life, Kiyoomi had never considered how torturous living could be. He had seen and heard people praying for immortality like it was a blessing instead of a curse. Did they really understand the concept of living forever? Did they even comprehend the consequences implied by such a foolish wish? They would never know the truth; the helplessness of watching the world make the same mistakes over and over again right before your eyes and the loneliness behind being forced to let go of the people you once called family, friends or lovers.

Eternity was a burden, a misfortune Kiyoomi was cursed to carry, a stain he couldn’t possibly get rid of.

However, if this was the only way Kiyoomi had to find _him_ again, then maybe, just maybe, being cursed wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Approximately three hundred years later, hell broke loose in Europe.

It began with something seemingly innocent, a few days of heavy constant rain falling from the skies. What was supposed to last a week at most, however, lasted for an entire year, which led to a widespread crop failure, no fodder for the cattle and a consequent exorbitant increase in food prices. Kiyoomi had witnessed it all; the despair of the poor and the selfishness of the rich. He had watched as water washed their souls away, taking the lives of those who starved and considerably reducing Europe’s entire population.

The weather had eventually returned to its normal patterns but it was not until many years later that the continent started to get back on track.

And that’s exactly what Kiyoomi and Motoya were attempting to achieve as they waited for their ship to dock. Motoya said he had a friend in the French coast who was willing to help them out. A friend who was called Keiji. A friend who was a witch.

Kiyoomi was dumbfounded by the revelation and silently raised an eyebrow at his cousin, as if saying ‘please, elaborate’.

“We met fifty years ago? I don’t remember, you know my memory isn’t half as good as yours, Kiyo.” Motoya whispered, afraid of what could happen if people listened to this nonsense - probably burn him and Kiyoomi at the stake after accusing them both of witchcraft. “Like you, he’s also very reserved, but definitely a lot nicer.”

Kiyoomi huffed, not denying that statement and asking Motoya to keep talking.

“He’s fairly new to this, still studying about spells and other things. I used to help him find some herbs and decipher the ancient language in his books, so when I told him we needed to resettle somewhere else he said we could stay with him for a while. He thinks he owes me that much.”

Kiyoomi’s focus was directed at the ocean and how beautifully the dusk’s colors palette reflected on the salty waters. His thoughts wandered in his mind to and fro, like a boat rocking gently in the water. Kiyoomi wasn’t aware of how many different mythical creatures existed other than the ones he learned about when he was a child. He knew about vampires and had little knowledge on sirens - after a not very pleasurable experience, but that was all. How many of them were real and how many were only fruits out of fairy tales? Kiyoomi’s pragmatic principles never allowed him to think about this, to consider their existence when there was nothing concrete to prove they were real.

But after he had been turned into a vampire, those kinds of questionings became more frequent.

So he asked Motoya.

“How many of these... creatures,” it took him a while to come up with an acceptable term to name their kind. “Do you know?”

The question took Motoya by surprise. He hummed quietly before realizing Kiyoomi was actually expecting an answer. “Oh, well, besides us, there was that siren from a hundred of years ago.” They both shivered at the memory of that beast but Motoya kept counting them on his fingers. “There’s Keiji and before you I met a dryad who was very kind and a werewolf that nearly killed me.” He spoke nonchalantly, as if an almost death experience was a common thing. “Are you interested in any of them in particular?”

Kiyoomi shook his head. “Not really, just curious.”

“I can tell you more about them later, if you want to.” Motoya offered in a gesture of goodwill.

“That’d be nice. Thank you, Motoya.” Kiyoomi tapped his cousin’s shoulder and pointed at the cog that made its way towards the dock. “I expected a carrack at least,” he said before picking up his luggage.

“You know, I think you got too used to the privileges of being a lord, Kiyo. It was about time for you to step down from your throne.” Motoya rushed after Kiyoomi, who had a smirk on his face since he last spoke.

“It was nice.”

“I bet it was,” Motoya mumbled. “You surely love to boss people around.”

Kiyoomi shrugged. “I just like things done my way.”

“No, you’re just a jerk.” Motoya called himself victorious seeing that Kiyoomi had no objections to his statement.

There were approximately five or six people besides them waiting for the same sailing ship. It would be a 14 days trip until they arrived at the French coast. A long time to be without blood and exposed to the sun, that was certain, but Kiyoomi and Motoya made sure to have a feast the night before they left. Also, Kiyoomi would rather suffer through two weeks at sea than spending more than a month on the back of his horse, traveling from town to town and ending up with a terrible back pain.

A man presented himself as the crew’s captain and welcomed the people about to board in as two sailors dropped down a ladder. He seemed gentle yet intimidating, too calm for a person with his kind of title. Unlike the man’s face - Kita Shinsuke, as he called himself; his posture commanded respect. His dark hair reached his ears and had a peculiar symmetry, parted on both sides with triangular-shaped bangs on the center of his forehead.

One of his sailors whispered something into his ear and the captain sighed, excusing himself from the people coming aboard.

Kiyoomi had to admit their conditions were far from being good, but were decent at least. The cog’s deck was spacious with a single mast attached to a square-rigged sail colored in maroon and white. There was a large cabin beneath them, reserved for the captain, a few members of the crew and their cargo only, which meant they’d be sleeping on the deck. The ship’s crew was divided into four groups of two watchers, each of them in charge of taking care of the travelers and the cog’s condition overall, ensuring their route was being followed accordingly.

Kiyoomi clicked his tongue in disapproval seeing his privacy had just been compromised. Thankfully there weren’t many people with them aside from the ship’s crew, so Kiyoomi made sure to save a place for him and Motoya far from everyone else on the ship’s stern and instantly started regretting ever stepping abroad.

It was already dark by the time they finally departed. While most people were asleep, Kiyoomi and Motoya were still wide awake. Although true that a certain amount of dormancy was required to maintain most vampires’ stable mental and emotional state, two or three hours were enough to replenish the energy lost within the day.

“We’ll have to be careful,” Kiyoomi mumbled, his deep voice the only thing that could be heard besides the watcher’s whispers.

The sound startled Motoya. “Oh, yes. Though food will certainly be a problem, I’m more concerned about sunlight.” He pressed a hand under his chin in a pensive pose.

“Allergies?” Kiyoomi suggested. “Or we can come up with a genetic disease, that would explain why we both have it.”

Motoya groaned, drawing the sailor’s attention. Kiyoomi sent him a murderous gaze in return. “Keep your voice down, Motoya.”

His cousin smiled sheepishly and apologized. “The idea isn't bad, but that captain freaked me out a little so I’ll leave the persuasion part to you.” Motoya showed him a pair of thumbs up. “Good luck!”

Kiyoomi cursed under his breath and tipped his head back to look at the stars above them instead, as one more look at Motoya’s face and Kiyoomi’s fist would be meeting his jaw. “Fine.”

Time slipped by as Kiyoomi stared at the twinkling lights into the distance, covered by a few uninvited clouds. Motoya was snoring lightly beside him, a lullaby Kiyoomi rather not be obligated to listen to but had no other choice than to do so. He focused on the sounds from the waves crashing against the ship’s hull. A chilly breeze brushed past his arms and forced a shiver out of his body. As the night gradually shifted into dawn, the temperature dropped considerably; a valley right before its peak. There was a thin blanket wrapped around Kiyoomi’s legs, and that provided enough comfort for him to fall into unconsciousness.

Vivid scenes filled Kiyoomi’s dreams; images of a breathtaking view, images of _him_ out of all people. There was a smile on his face as he turned to look at Kiyoomi, who was sitting right beside him, their thighs touching shyly, unaware of their position. The sun brushed upon his features tenderly, illuminating his blond hair that insisted on darkening every time Kiyoomi blinked his eyes. He called for him but Kiyoomi had lost his ability to speak as no words left his mouth. Kiyoomi raised his hands desperately, trying to reach out for the person who got further away from him, yet his hands found nothing but air.  
He was nowhere in sight and Kiyoomi found himself alone.

Again.

Kiyoomi had refused to speak or even think about Atsumu since the last time he saw him. Yet, his unsolicited presence haunted his sleep, filling his head with scenarios that were only likely to exist in that mystical realm and offering him a taste of what he deeply wished he had. A tease of his own treacherous mind when he was most vulnerable. There was no escaping from those images, like trying to run from your own shadow or open a door that had no keyhole. Kiyoomi had no other option than to indulge, to drown himself in thoughts that left a bitter taste in his mouth the moment he opened his eyes and realized that none of them had ever happened.

A hand gently nudged Kiyoomi’s shoulder. He had his back against the ship’s side and squinted due to the daylight. Kiyoomi blinked twice and frowned at the man crouched in front of him, rubbing his eyes to see if he was still dreaming.

The first thing that caught Kiyoomi’s attention was the man’s short light strawberry blond hair and how its color obfuscated his sight underneath the sun rays. The tone clashed nicely against his pale skin, though a little red around the edges, probably from his outdoor activities. He had a squared-shaped face, with a jaw as sharp as a razor blade.

Kiyoomi would certainly say the man was from Northern Europe, maybe a Scandinavian.

If not for his eyes.

Rather than light blue or green, they were brownish, amber under the lights charmingly framing his entire face. A distinct fire could be seen dancing around his dark pupils, its flames as enticing as a pool of blood and as familiar as Kiyoomi’s own reflection - if he only had one. People used to say a person’ eyes were windows to their souls, they bore no lies. And the truth was undeniable, a mere hypothesis that soon turned into a fact.

Because no one else had that kind of fire.

“Atsumu?” Kiyoomi’s voice was still sluggish from sleep. He stared at the man who was supposedly Atsumu with a confused expression.

They shared the same emotion as the man seemed just as puzzled. “Have we met before?” His voice sounded huskier than what Kiyoomi expected it to be, but just as loud. “I don’t think I’ve told you my name yet.”

“I heard your captain calling you earlier.” It was a wild guess, one Kiyoomi desperately hoped was right.

Atsumu hummed, still giving Kiyoomi a suspicious look. “Well, then I need to tell Kita to start calling me by my last name like everyone else so I can introduce myself properly to the pretty ones.” He winked at Kiyoomi, lips turning into a smirk.

Kiyoomi couldn’t help but smile, too.

“So, what are you waiting for?” He asked. “Introduce yourself.”

“Miya Atsumu, best sailor of the Meditterran sea, ready to help you during the next two weeks.” Hidden behind his back was a large white parasol, that was now being positioned right above Kiyoomi’s head, shielding him from the sun peeking out the clouds. “Your cousin asked me to bring this to you.” Kiyoomi inhaled sharply through his nose when Atsumu’s fingers brushed lightly against his cheek. His touch was careful, delicate even, as if Kiyoomi was made of the most expensive china. “Your face is a little red. It’d be a shame if it got sunburned.”

Past the initial shock of Atsumu’s touch on his skin, Kiyoomi’s gaze was very displeased as he directed it to Atsumu’s hand, which had moved further down, caressing his jaw.

“Get your filthy hands away from me,” he hissed and Atsumu acted quickly, raising both of his hands defensively in front of his face.

“Easy there, pretty boy. I’m just trying to show you some hospitality since you’re stuck with us for some time, unless you’d rather swim with the sharks.”

Kiyoomi pinched his nose’s bridge between his fingers and moved that same hand to his wild curls afterwards in a failed attempt to tame them. His insides were bubbling with energy, although Kiyoomi wasn’t sure if from sheer happiness, exasperation or dismay; possibly all three if he was looking for honesty.

“Don’t call me that.” He felt exhausted though he had just woken up.

Atsumu’s knee joints cracked when he stood, the noise loud to Kiyoomi’s sensitive ears. He patted the non existent dust from his navy blue pants and placed both hands on his hips, slightly favoring his left side. “If you tell me your name I can think about using it.” There was a smug smirk painted on his lips as he stared down at Kiyoomi through half-lidded eyes.

Kiyoomi instantly hated how that expression made him feel.

“It’s Kiyoomi,” he revealed. “Sakusa Kiyoomi.”

Atsumu offered him help in getting up and Kiyoomi simply ignored it, choosing to do so by himself and walking past Atsumu, who clicked his tongue at the man’s stubbornness. “Breakfast is being served downstairs at the cabin if you want to. It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing,”

A shiver ran through Kiyoomi’s spine when he felt Atsumu’s breath on his neck, aiming for his ears, and his hand circling his own tenderly. The parasol’s handle was placed around Kiyoomi’s fingers and a shadow was once again cast upon him.

“Don’t forget to protect yourself, Kiyoomi.” The syllables of his name came out slowly from Atsumu’s lips, each puff of warm breath against his skin resulting in a new pair of chills running up and down Kiyoomi’s arms.

Kiyoomi stood there with the white parasol between his hands, stunned like a statue inside a fancy museum. He had been left there with the ghost of Atsumu’s touch lingering on his hands and the image of his twinkling amber eyes winking indiscreetly at him.

The next two weeks were going to be the death of him.

Life inside a cargo ship was just as terrible as the books described it to be. There was barely enough food for everyone, each meal consisting of a loaf of bread and a glass of water - or some cheap wine they occasionally offered when feeling nice. The conditions were precarious and highly dependent on the weather they were currently facing. Kiyoomi learned to hate the rain as it resulted in a mass of people sharing the same air from the ship’s singular cabin. And controversially, ever since he convinced the captain to let him and Motoya stay inside due to their so-called disease, Kiyoomi started to face the sunny days with a certain fondness in his eyes. He was indifferent to the people traveling with him, and based most of his opinions on Motoya’s incessant chatter about the widow who wouldn’t stop asking about Kiyoomi’s interests, and the pair of newlyweds who weren’t capable of keeping their hands to themselves.

And there was Miya Atsumu.

The man was the most presumptuous bastard Kiyoomi ever had the displeasure of meeting, the worst of all his previous versions - if Kiyoomi even dared to compare them. What irked Kiyoomi the most was not Atsumu’s personality, although it played a big part on his daily stress levels, but how he couldn’t find ways to critique Atsumu’s job at all. He knew the ship like the palm of his calloused hands, moving from one side to the other rather quickly and changing the sail’s direction according to the wind that pushed his strawberry blond hair to the side. Kiyoomi noticed there was a shiny compass Atsumu always kept inside his pockets, a precious gift from Kita, he once explained. He used it wisely, and if not for his shabby clothes, Kiyoomi would’ve called him captain.

Kiyoomi swore to never say that thought out loud or Atsumu would become even more insufferable than he already was.

He insisted on pestering Kiyoomi on every single opportunity he had, choosing one pet name from his seemingly infinite collection for each special occasion. Kiyoomi had heard them all, having been called ‘sweetheart’, ‘darling’, ’sweetie’, the infamous ‘pretty boy’, and the one Kiyoomi thought it would never cross his ears again, the one that had made its way to the top of Kiyoomi’s list almost a thousand years ago and since then never left.

Halfway through their trip Kiyoomi found himself contemplating the night sky with a codex resting between his hands. The weather was nice despite the number of clouds covering the light from the stars. Far in the distance Kiyoomi could sense a distinct smell of rain, which he hoped wouldn’t catch them off guard. Rough winds had successfully scared Motoya away, who chose to rest inside the cabin instead of enjoying Kiyoomi’s company out in the cold.

The ship’s wooden floor cracked beneath strong footsteps, growing louder as they approached Kiyoomi’s solitary figure. He barely took his eyes from the lines he had been reading until the person ungracefully sat on his side with his knees up.

“What are you reading, Omi?” Atsumu’s head was resting on his folded arms as he curiously looked at the cover of Kiyoomi’s book.

His warmth could be felt through the touch of their shoulders but Atsumu still trembled as a new gush of air passed through them.

“A poem,” Kiyoomi simply answered, slightly annoyed by the nickname. “Shouldn’t you be asleep? Your shift will begin soon.”

“Are you worried about me, darling?” Atsumu chuckled when he saw the creases on Kiyoomi’s forehead. “Somehow my body’s always on alert when it feels a storm coming, so I couldn’t sleep,” he explained.

“Do you think it’ll be a bad one?” By the tone of his voice it was clear how worried Kiyoomi actually was. The implications and consequences of a storm could be meaningful to him and Motoya, especially considering their true nature.

Atsumu titled his head back, trying to search for something in between the clouds. “I’m not sure,” he mumbled. “Doesn’t seem like it, but maybe it’ll deviate us from our path, another three or five days at sea.”

Kiyoomi nodded, internally hoping Atsumu was wrong about his predictions. He knew about the risks involved in their decision to board in a ship, but he and Motoya thought they could trust their will-power enough to control their hunger if needed.

“I know you’ve been having a few problems, so consider this a chance to get over them. And that also means I can be around you a little longer, pretty boy.” Atsumu placed his head on Kiyoomi’s shoulder, who shrugged him off right away.

Someone probably told him about Kiyoomi and Motoya’s current issues of throwing up their meals after eating them. The gossip surely traveled fast between the crew members. Kiyoomi shouldn’t be expecting anything less from a place where there weren’t many things to do or talk about

“How’s that a good thing?”

The lack of malice in Kiyoomi’s voice didn’t seem to surprise Atsumu, who just laughed about it. When his eyes returned to Kiyoomi’s, however, they looked glassy, hundreds of unspoken words hidden beneath their warmth. In a sudden moment they shifted to Kiyoomi’s lips before once again meeting his gaze.

“It could be, if you wanted to.”

Kiyoomi gulped, still not managing to swallow down the lump now stuck in his throat.

“Stop with that nonsense,” he forced the words out in a husky whisper and ended the battle being waged by their eyes. “Have you been through a lot of storms?”

“A few, yes. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure we reach our destination in one piece,” Atsumu’s words were certain, like he had been doing this for ages instead of only a few years.

“You certainly don’t deserve the title of best sailor if you can’t handle that,” Kiyoomi teased.

Atsumu stifled a yawn with the back of his hand. “I’ll show you how good I can be, Omi.” His eyelids seemed heavier now, almost closing on their own. His body was just as tired, gradually sinking into the ship’s railing and letting the wave’s sounds luil him to sleep.

“Omi, why don’t you read me a poem so I can dream about that pretty voice of yours?”

Kiyoomi huffed, looking at Atsumu’s expression from the corner of his eyes. “Can’t you read it yourself?”

Atsumu shook his head. “Never learned to. Kita tried to teach me but I guess I’m just a bad student.”

“I think you didn’t try hard enough.”

A quiet hum left Atsumu’s mouth. “Maybe.” His eyes fell shut right after his head had settled gently on Kiyoomi’s shoulder like it truly belonged there. Atsumu’s next words were slurred, an evident excess of tiredness in each of them “Maybe you can teach me one day.”

Kiyoomi smiled softly, engrossed by the sight of Atsumu’s peaceful figure. His expression was serene, no more mischief in his eyes or lies behind his smirks. A few strands of hair partially covered his forehead, making him look younger under the deck’s soft yellow lights. Kiyoomi’s hands ached to touch him, to brush his hair aside and feel his skin against his lips, but they were closed tightly in fists instead.

There was nothing left to do except to read.

Kiyoomi’s voice was rich but also quiet, a buzz between the crashing waves and Atsumu’s soft snores as he secretly granted the other’s request.

Their fate was inevitable. It had been written in the stars standing too far from their reach, shrouded by heavy clouds that seemed to fill the sky more and more after each day. Even after straying from their original path, which resulted in an additional week at sea, the storm eventually found its way to them, creating nothing but despair.

Dark clouds crossed the sky moments before torrential waters fell from them and flooded the cog’s deck. The crew members fought against the stormy winds that dared to push them away and dragged everything else that crossed their path. As for the remaining travelers, they tried their best to stay dry inside the cabin. All they could hear besides the loud manifestation of nature’s outrage were desperate screams, tenacious instructions and heavy footsteps moving above them. The wood cracked on a similar rhythm of the one played by the sea, a turmoil of movements that seemed endless.

There was nowhere to go or possible places to hide as the water now reached most people’s ankles and completely drenched their shoes and consequently their socks too. Wine barrels were being used as chairs and people held onto each other, afraid that the ship’s movements would make them fall into a questionable pool of dark water.

Hours had passed and the storm showed no signs of stopping. People struggled with their emotional distress, too afraid of what could happen if they closed their eyes to nature’s wrath and too curious to know who would be the winner of that seemingly endless battle. The atmosphere was tense, no words were spoken - not out loud at least; and they truly weren’t necessary for one to guess what was going on inside that cabin.

Kiyoomi and Motoya had offered to help, seeing as they were the most unaffected by the most recent events. After all, when you had a baggage of more than a thousand years, life just wasn’t as surprising as it once was. Despite their insistence, Kita refused to let them join, saying he trusted his sailors to take care of it. So they stayed among the travelers, watching the sailors coming and going, always in a rush.

“How’s the hunger?” Motoya whispered, worried about what could happen if the storm lasted longer than it should.

“Manageable.” Kiyoomi had his eyes focused elsewhere inside the cabin, counting the stains on the walls or the fleas flying around them.

Fifteen days had passed since they last fed and its consequences were already showing through their attitudes. Kiyoomi was snappier than usual, getting angry over little things that usually wouldn’t bother him, and Motoya was quieter, more judgemental, looking for an opportunity to sink his teeth into anything that would give him some kind of relief. For how much longer would they need to suppress their instincts, to keep chained the monster that bared its fangs everytime someone approached? Thinking about the answer to that question made them both terrified, too scared to face the truth.

After 36 hours the noises weren’t as deafening and the wind’s howls had lost their strength. The wood was creaking less and less, and the cog’s motions returned to its normal pattern.

The sailors had been finally declared victorious.

However, there weren't signs of happiness in their voices when they walked inside the cabin. Kita was leading the way and two others were right behind him carrying an injured man.

The smell of blood hit Kiyoomi like a punch in the gut. In his current half-starved state it was hard to ignore the traces of iron hanging in the air like small particles of dust. He chased it with his nose and then with his tongue, wishing he could have that on his lips, coursing through his veins and satisfying his darkest needs. His vision was blurred by his desires, and Kiyoomi could feel his self control slipping from his fingers every time the injured person moved and new traces of blood were sprinkled in the air. It was disconcerting, maddening even, how something so plain could elicit such a reaction, one able to transform Kiyoomi into someone he barely recognized as himself.

He felt Motoya’s firm grip on his arm. He listened to his rushed whisper warning him about his fangs and the blood quickly running through his veins. He had been aware of it all yet he chose not to pay attention to his surroundings; like he even had a choice. Kiyoomi wished he could simply turn his face away, keep his thoughts and those excruciating sensations under lock and key in order to spare his body and mind from that kind of suffering. It wasn’t as easy as counting up to ten, however, and despite his many years of practice, every time it happened Kiyoomi was forced to deal with a new challenge.

Kita’s voice was the one that woke him up from his reveries.

“I think it might be for the best if you just went outside for a while, Kiyoomi.” His face was stern but also merciful, like he knew something was going on but was trying his best to understand. “You and Motoya deserve some fresh air now that the storm is gone. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to come back inside.” Maybe Kita wasn’t aware of what he had been dealing with since Kiyoomi and Motoya came aboard his ship, but he chose that moment to let them know that the truth about them not being humans wasn’t much of a secret anymore.

Climbing up the ladder that led to the deck was akin to coming out of a cave for the first time in a month. The clarity was blinding although the sun was slowly disappearing in the west. There were no more clouds in the sky, as if they had already fulfilled their role of bringing nature’s chaos upon that cog. What they left behind, however, was clear for everyone to see. Scattered around the deck were signs of the storm’s devastating consequences; sharp pieces of wood and a pile of drenched clothes on the floor, tears in the ship’s sail, and water splashing around with every short step.

The sea’s saltiness hung heavy in the air but it brought along some kind of expected refreshment like the calm after the storm. Kiyoomi inhaled deeply, both of his hands gripping tightly into what was left of the cog’s railing. He could breathe easily now as his thoughts and senses were no longer clouded by that familiar mist but the ups and downs from his chest still showed just how affected he was. A tingling sensation filled his empty mouth as his canines ached to be sunk into a piece of flesh and his taste buds begged for that metallic liquor, more inebriating than any alcohol he ever had the displeasure of trying.

Motoya’s presence had been completely forgotten if not for the sound of his reassuring voice. “You okay over there, Kiyo?”

Kiyoomi knew his cousin was in a similar dismantled state, so he appreciated the gesture. He exhaled slowly, opening his eyes for the first time in a while and squinting at the light invading his sensitive retinas.

“Not yet, but I will be,” he honestly replied.

“We’ll figure something out, something that doesn’t involve us lacerating the sailor’s necks.” Motoya chuckled, hoping that Kiyoomi would follow with one of his own, but his face was still just as impassive.

“If something like that happens again, I don’t know if I’ll be able to control myself.” Kiyoomi spoke in a whisper as his eyes watched the wave’s soothing motion.

“One more week and we’ll be back on land. We’ll feed and then head to Keiji’s house.” Despite the trepidation in Motoya’s voice, his words were like a thin thread of hope Kiyoomi gladly wrapped his hands onto. “We’ll be fine, Kiyo. I know we will.” Motoya’s hand landed on Kiyoomi’s shoulder, his grip a little weaker than it used to be.

And at that moment, Kiyoomi was glad to have someone like Motoya by his side. Someone able to rebuild his foundations when the ground beneath his feet was no longer able to keep him stable.

Ha patted Motoya’s hand and offered him a small but meaningful smile. “Thank you, Motoya.”

The conversation between them followed a leisurely pattern after that. There was still no one but them at the deck to witness how brightly the stars were shining above them, and how lively their laughs sounded when they fell casually out of their lips. They shared stories yet untold, experiences from those many years of living; funny and sad moments that had turned into nothing but a fond memory. Stories from the past that were now being written in history books, about people who were considered heroes or geniuses, and habits that were better off forgotten.

Although Kiyoomi and Motoya spent most of their time together, he missed those moments when there were just the two of them. Moments he could forget about his true self and simply talk to the one who was now the only family he had. After so many years there was no point in denying what had already become obvious.

Heavy footsteps behind them forced them to turn around, meeting the captain’s stern gaze. The smile fell from their faces when their eyes landed on the things Kita’s hands carried.

Two large dead rats were dangling from Kita’s grasp, swinging from one side to another. He lifted the animals so that Kiyoomi and Motoya could see them better before speaking.

“Will that be enough for a week?” After they nodded, the rats fell lifelessly on the wooden floor near their feet. “They were already dead when my sailors found them, probably drowned because of the storm.”

Kiyoomi kneeled and sniffed the offered meal before shifting his eyes back to Kita.

“Why should we trust you? What if you’re trying to kill us?”

“And how do you know about us?” Motoya also asked, sharing Kiyoomi’s suspicious thoughts regarding the captain’s attitude towards them.

Kita hummed quietly, crossing both arms leisurely. “Those are fair questions and I’ll answer them all since you’re both part of my crew during this trip. First, I’m sorry to inform you that I’m not as naive as I look like. A genetic disease, really?” His words were cynical but his face was still as emotionless as his voice. “As a man whose life is to travel across continents, I’m used to hearing a lot of rumors about beings that aren’t exactly human. I must confess I never thought I’d actually meet not one but two of them.”

“And second,” there was a threatening look in his eyes when he paused, one that sent shivers down Motoya’s spine. “You should believe me when I say that if I wanted you two dead, you’d be at the bottom of the sea by now.”

He saluted them shortly, a silent appreciation for being patient listeners. “I hope I convinced you to trust me.” His eyes drifted back to the cabin when he heard a few sailors calling his name. “I’ll keep the deck free for a few more minutes so you can have some privacy. Please try not to make a mess.”

The food wasn’t much, but it was enough to make sure Kiyoomi or Motoya wouldn’t go insane during the remaining days of their trip, partially satiating their never ending hunger.

And to that they celebrated on the following night among the sailors and other travelers, although for completely different reasons. While they opened their wine barrels to have a victory drink, a liquid as dense as the alcoholic one ran through Kiyoomi and Motoya’s veins and made them just as inebriated.

Loud noises echoed from the cabin; disoriented laughs and unbalanced steps traveled through the air and caught Kiyoomi’s attention from where he stood at the cog’s deck. There were a few people scattered across the ship, but the majority of them chose to stay inside - and that included Motoya; even though the night’s weather was nice and comfortable, neither too cold nor too warm. A breeze swept away Kiyoomi’s curls, bringing the salty sea air up to his nose as he closed his eyes and breathed it in willingly.

“Enjoying the night all by yourself, darling?” Kiyoomi felt a shoulder bumping against his own.

It wasn’t necessary to look to know who the person now standing beside him was.

“Shouldn’t you be celebrating with your crewmates?” Kiyoomi asked quietly, tilting his head back and leaning his body further onto the railing.

He could sense Atsumu’s burning gaze locked on his face as he shrugged. “I’d rather spend some time with you.”

“Why?” Curiosity got the best of him and Kiyoomi could barely hold back the question before it left his mouth.

There was a small silence between them where only background noise could be heard; the waves crashing against the ship, the joyful sounds from the cabin. Kiyoomi opened his eyes for the first time since Atsumu decided to show up, and felt all the air being forcibly pulled from his lungs.

Atsumu was staring back at him with eyes as shiny as the moon that illuminated them faintly. His mouth was pressed into a thin line, still contemplating what to say next as his scrutinizing gaze shifted over every small detail of Kiyoomi’s face. He opened his mouth a few times, though no words came out.

Then, he smiled softly and shook his head, realizing the answer was in fact much simpler than he thought it was.

“Because I like you.”

The words caught Kiyoomi by surprise, but soon the deep frown between his eyebrows had returned.

“You barely know me.”

Atsumu snorted, trying to muffle his laugh with a bite onto his bottom lip. “Actually, I think I know a lot about you, pretty boy.”

“Enlighten me, then,” Kiyoomi said.

“You don’t like when people invade your personal space, and you don’t like when they touch you a lot too. You have an usual passion for reading. You always get a melancholic look in your eyes when you stare at the night sky and at the stars. Despite denying, you’re always keeping track of your cousin, like you’re afraid of losing him or that he might leave you,” Atsumu counted them on his fingers, filling an entire hand before closing it.

Kiyoomi hummed quietly. He didn’t completely agree with Atsumu’s assumptions but he didn’t feel the need to tell him he was wrong either. Maybe because deep down Kiyoomi knew he was right.

“Never thought of you as the observant type.”

A smug smirk was settled on Atsumu’s lips when he spoke. “What can I say? I’m full of surprises.”

Kiyoomi contemplated the sky before chuckling softly. Images of Atsumu’s previous lives flashing in front of his eyes like a movie he’d never get tired of watching. “That you certainly are.”

He was startled by a pair of fingertips tracing the lines of his jaw in a touch so soft that could've been part of his ludic imagination. Atsumu’s breath was warm when it collided against his cheek, the distinct smell of alcohol filling the small space between them.

”Can I surprise you one more time, then?”

Kiyoomi allowed his face to be pulled and to fall into Atsumu’s orbit once again. Sheer determination and a hint of desire swirled across Atsumu’s honey-colored irises. His thumb ran over Kiyoomi’s lips, feeling their soft texture and making Kiyoomi wonder what Atsumu would do if he took a small bite.

“You’re drunk, Atsumu,” Kiyoomi stated. His eyes were unable to focus on anything but Atsumu’s.

“As if two glasses of wine would be enough to do that,” Atsumu replied almost instantly. “I’ve wanted to do this since the first time I saw you. There’s something very familiar about you, like I’ve seen you before. But I’m sure I’d have remembered your pretty face if I did.”

Kiyoomi was rendered speechless, struck by the somewhat familiarity of Atsumu’s touch and the ever so enticing sight of his lips, tempting him to let go of all his inhibitions and take one small step forward. One that would lead him straight into the bottom of the ocean.

He didn’t notice how close their faces were until he felt a pair of lips whispering against his own. “It’s okay, Omi. I’ll be right here to save you if you drown.”

And there was not much left to do but to let the waves wash him away.

Kissing Atsumu was nothing like Kiyoomi’s previous experiences. It was anxious and desperate instead of slow and composed, as if Kiyoomi was the only one capable of ending Atsumu’s everlasting thirst. Atsumu’s hands cupped Kiyoomi’s face and pulled him closer to feel more than just a mouth against his own, to drown himself into Kiyoomi’s cold waters. His fingers slipped into Kiyoomi’s hair and swallowed down the sounds of a content sigh. Kiyoomi’s touch was reluctant at first, testing the waters to see if that was real and not just another one of his vivid dreams. And although his feet didn’t touch the bottom, Kiyoomi willingly let go of the anchor keeping him from drowning in favor of throwing himself into the unknown.

All because he knew Atsumu would be right there to catch him in his open arms.

Kiyoomi placed a hand on Atsumu’s lower back as the other one caressed his cheek. He tilted Atsumu’s head to the side and sank his teeth onto Atsumu’s chapped bottom lip, consuming lustful sounds instead of blood. A tortuous path was traced by the tip of his tongue, soothing the bruises he had recently caused before sinking further. All his senses were tingling, completely overwhelmed by the flood that was the salty scent stuck on Atsumu’s skin like a fancy cologne, and his intoxicating breath mixing with his own. He drank everything Atsumu had to offer, swallowing each and every drop like it was the last meal he would be having.

After being submerged for so long, their lungs started to burn from the lack of oxygen, forcing their lips to part in a gasp. Atsumu whined and chased after Kiyoomi’s mouth, pressing one more chaste kiss against it before opening his eyes.

Kiyoomi wasn’t sure about most things concerning his future but the sight of Atsumu’s disheveled state with his glossy eyes, plump lips and messy hair would certainly be committed to his memory for a very long time.

The next few days passed by in a blur.

Kiyoomi was slowly getting used to and even enjoying Atsumu’s constant presence by his side. They stood next to each other inside the cabin, where Kiyoomi usually allowed Atsumu to rest peacefully on his thighs or shoulders as he told him about the stories he had read. And when they were out at the deck, it was Atsumu’s turn to share his own, describing to Kiyoomi his adventures at sea and the life he had on land. He was still obnoxious and a ridiculous flirt, but Kiyoomi had learned that kissing Atsumu was one of many ways to deal with his attitude - and consequently keep his mouth shut.

And maybe for the first time in years Kiyoomi felt a different kind of happiness, one he certainly wouldn’t mind feeling for the rest of his endless life.

However, it was a common saying that all good things eventually come to an end.

On the fourth day of their new established routine, Kiyoomi noticed there was something different about Atsumu. His movements were slower, his face was tainted in a reddish tone, and his skin was hot to the touch. Chills ran up and down his spine as he trembled on Kiyoomi’s lap after his rounds. Even keeping his eyes open seemed like a tough task to be accomplished.

“Atsumu, you’re sick,” Kiyoomi was slightly concerned after checking his temperature by the fifth time and seeing that it seemed to be getting higher.

“Nonsense,” Atsumu murmured against Kiyoomi’s thigh. “I’m just a little unwell. Tomorrow I’ll be good as new.”

Atsumu’s wishes didn’t concretize.

In fact, his condition was only further aggravated during the following day. Besides the initial symptoms, Atsumu’s neck and armpits were slightly swollen, and his feverish state started to worry his captain and the remaining crew. He was advised to rest until they reached the French coast in two more days, and although he protested against the idea with his constant whinings, Atsumu’s stubbornness didn’t overcome the tiredness that prevented him from getting up and doing his chores.

Kiyoomi spent most of the time by Atsumu’s side, trying to soothe his pain and thinking of what could have put him in such a miserable state. Seeing his suffering was akin to having a knife carved into his body. A desperate sensation that crawled through his insides and consumed every drop of blood he had to offer; an unsettling and unfamiliar feeling of not being able to help those who needed or those he cared about.

And if there was one thought Kiyoomi couldn’t bear to be reminded of at that time, was the one that involved Atsumu’s vulnerability as a human. He was aware that what they had wasn’t meant to last, their worlds were too far apart and so was their nature. But he chose to be selfish and dive into Atsumu’s waters to see what treasures he could find. That’s why he came out of his shell and allowed Atsmu to get close once again, even if only for a few miserable days.

But the possibility of losing Atsumu again always returned, no matter how much he tried to avoid it. And that was the cause of his sleepless nights and too many frustrated sighs.

There was no other explanation but for that to be an infectious disease. As days turned into nights, more and more people started to present the same initial signs of fever and fatigue. They struggled against it but there was a limited range of actions they could do considering their resources at sea. Some of them worsened quickly with purple fingertips and swelling in specific parts of their bodies, while others’ state was only gradually progressing. The whole crew and travelers had been condemned by a merciless fate that patiently awaited for them at the end of their paths.

“I heard a rumor once,” Kita said through clenched teeth, fighting against the pain that had settled on his limbs. “About a new disease that started to spread across the eastern continent.” He paused to catch his breath. “They said it was deadly and almost no one survived. Entire populations are being decimated and the cause of it is yet unknown.”

His hands reached for Kiyoomi’s sleeve and he searched for his eyes with a pleading, almost desperate look.

“If there’s anything you can do to help, please do it. I beg you.” Kiyoomi could feel his trembling fingers, either from weakness or despair. “Save the travelers first and then my crew. If I don’t make it, that’s fine by me, but they still have a lot to feel and to learn. A man who hasn’t experienced all that life could offer him deserves to keep living.”

Those words lingered in Kiyoomi’s head like a plague he couldn’t get rid of, bouncing repeatedly from wall to wall until it suddenly stopped.

Kiyoomi checked if there was anyone awake and turned to Motoya in a rush, after making sure that Atsumu’s head wouldn’t roll over from his thighs to the floor.

“Motoya, wake up.” Kiyoomi pinched his cousin's arm, knowing he was a light sleeper.

Motoya opened his eyes slowly, almost letting them fall shut again if not for Kiyoomi’s unforgiving fingers giving him a rougher pinch this time. “Alright, I get it.” He swatted Kiyoomi’s hands away and rubbed the reddened skin. “What’s the matter, Kiyo?”

“Your friend we’re going to meet, Keiji. He’s a witch, right?”

“Yes,” he answered, still unsure of what Kiyoomi’s point was. “So?”

“He knows witchcraft. Do you think he can come up with a spell or a potion to cure them?”

When Motoya finally understood what Kiyoomi was trying to suggest, his eyes widened further, shifting from Kiyoomi’s stern face to the back of Atsumu’s head and then to the rest of the people who were in a similar condition. If Kiyoomi felt helpless by the sight of them, Motoya felt ten times worse. Between the two of them, he was the oldest, the supposedly wisest, the sensitive. But just like Kiyoomi, he had run out of ideas to save them. His hands were tied in a sailor’s hitch and there was no way to set them free.

Yet there was still hope, a thin thread that was now wrapped around the hands of a witch.

“There’s only one way to find out.”

The situation inside the cog was just a reflection of what was happening to the entire world.

People screamed for help the moment they arrived, saying another infected ship had docked. A man came aboard and checked the crew’s pulses and temperature. He cursed when he saw the purple fingertips of a few men and asked someone to transfer them to a specific hospital reserved for the sick. When his eyes landed on Kiyoomi and Motoya they were suspicious but also relieved to find a few healthy faces.

Kiyoomi barely had time to say goodbye. He reached for Atsumu’s hand before they took him away and told him they would be seeing each other soon. It was only a matter of time.

Motoya had Keiji’s address written on a small creased piece of paper. He handled it to the owner of a beat-up old carriage along with a pouch full of golden coins, and after two hours of a bumpy and turbulent ride to the outskirts of town, they found themselves in front of a fairly common house - certainly not what they expected from a witch.

A man opened the front door before they knocked, meeting them with his pair of fierce blue eyes.

“Motoya and Kiyoomi, I presume. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he greeted them briefly before further opening the door. “Please come inside and make yourself at home. I’ll show you the place and guide you to your room soon.”

“Likewise,” Kiyoomi replied. “It’s nice of you to let us stay.” His eyes drifted through the old furniture and a few paintings on the walls. Different earthy scents filled the air, creating an exquisite but nice mixture; sometimes sweet, sometimes citric.

“How have you been, Keiji?” Motoya asked, walking a few steps ahead from Kiyoomi and standing next to his friend.

“Well, and I appreciate your concern. It’s a shame I can’t say the same about you two. Should I ask what’s been troubling you?” His voice was rich, a deep tone that was definitely nice to listen to. A hint of curiosity hung within his words.

“How did you…” Motoya wondered, fascinated by his skills.

Keiji chuckled. “You don’t have to be a witch to see how tense you really are. Tight muscles, closed faces and unsettling gazes.” When they arrived at the kitchen, Keiji asked them to take a seat while he prepared some tea. “Is this about the plague?”

“A plague? Is that what we’re dealing with?” Kiyoomi had both elbows on the table, and his chin rested carefully on the back of his hands.

“We’re not sure yet, but it seems like it. Whatever it is, it’s been spreading fast and killing many people.” Keiji crushed a few herbs with his hands, throwing them inside a boiling pot. “I’ve been doing some research but so far I’ve had no luck on finding an antidote. It’s too complicated and I obviously can’t test the things I create on someone else.”

“If you had patients to test your witchcraft on, could you do it? Could you create something to cure them?” Kiyoomi’s gaze wasn’t as impassive as he wished, giving away at least half of his worries.

“I need you to understand that I need some time, and I can’t promise you it’ll work. I’m not a white witch, mister Kiyoomi.” He placed two tea cups in front of his guests. “Unfortunately, although time can be something trivial for us, it’s what separates humans from their deaths. I’ve seen people dying in less than a week.”

Kiyoomi frowned at the tea in front of him, not feeling so thirsty anymore. He swallowed past the lump in his throat and got up.

“If not for me, then do it for them. You’re our last hope, Keiji,” Kiyoomi stated at the witch, who nodded shortly.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

After that, with nothing else to say, Kiyoomi left to his room.

It was funny, perhaps somewhat curious, how time could be a double edged sword. Time couldn’t be touched or tasted, but It was measurable in seconds, minutes, years and even centuries. Kiyoomi wasn’t sure of how many times he heard things like ‘you have all the time in the world’ or ‘you don’t have much time left now’. Human’s lives were limited by those numbers. But what could time possibly mean if not just another variable to someone whose life was not affected by it? People were always running after time, an endless chase until they met their fateful destiny. And Kiyoomi couldn’t help feeling he was just a bystander to that particular show.

Three days later, Keiji showed them the idea of a potion he came up with. It would be necessary at least two more days to make it and most of its ingredients made Kiyoomi’s stomach twist in disgust; especially the insects’ parts. And its required spell was just as complicated, considering Keiji wasn’t used to that kind of witchcraft.

“I must warn you that this could kill a person instead of healing them as I’m not completely sure of its effects. Are you willing to risk it?”

Motoya was gnawing on his bottom lip as he looked quickly over to where Kiyoomi was leaning against the wall, arms folded in front of his chest.

“Kiyo, listen. I know how badly you want to save him but this is going too far and we don’t have much time left. We can’t be responsible for his death. We’re not God, we can’t save him if he’s destined to die.”

Kiyoomi sighed deeply and cursed under his breath thinking no one would listen. He knew they should just let him be taken. He knew it would be easier to just let him go. But Kiyoomi wasn’t a man known for his lack of commitment.

“There is one other option, if I may suggest it,” Keiji mentioned slowly, as if his next words were to be considered outrageous. “You do know you can turn him, don’t you? That way he’ll-“

Kiyoomi cut him off before he could finish.

“That’s unacceptable,” he mumbled. “He’s clearly not in a condition to agree or disagree. His decision will be biased by his desire to keep living. If you offer eternity to a man who’s about to die, what do you think his answer will be?”

“Kiyo…” Motoya tried to reach out for him, but Kiyoomi backed away from this touch as if it would burn him.

“I can’t decide that for him, I’m not that selfish. Please remember this is a curse and not a blessing.”

Kiyoomi walked to the front door, putting on his coat and wrapping a scarf around his neck and mouth.

“With that said, I think it’s time to say goodbye, then. I’ll be back soon.”

The breeze was cold by the time Kiyoomi arrived at the hospital, it cut through his skin with cruelty, as if it intended to hurt him. Dark clouds filled the sky, a bad forecast about the weather, a sign that maybe another storm was about to come.

He had to lie so that they allowed him to get inside the place. Kiyoomi claimed to be a doctor and soon they offered him a mask with a bird-like beak, a long coat to cover his arms and gloves to not expose his fingers to the contaminated air. They guided him to a room where all the sailors from the cog were now resting, telling him that a few didn’t make it and their lives had already been taken.

As soon as Kiyoomi spotted that mop of strawberry blond hair, he felt a bit more relieved. But that didn’t mean he was happy to see him, not in his current state.

The tip of Atsumu’s nose was black, just like his fingers. His neck and armpits were larger than last time, too. There was no life in him except for that tiny sparkle in his beautiful honey-colored eyes. He smiled weakly when he noticed someone by his side, and even though Kiyoomi was practically unrecognizable in his attire, somehow Atsumu knew it was him who had come to visit.

“What a pleasure to see you, sweetheart.” His voice was small, as if he lacked the strength to speak. “I thought I’d only see you in my dreams from now on, and maybe soon I’d get to watch you from above.”

Kiyoomi looked around to make sure there was nobody else watching him and removed his mask. Atsumu kept smiling, not at all worried about the risks of such an irresponsible act.

“So nice to see your pretty face again, Omi.” He closed his eyes as Kiyoomi’s hands fell gently on his head, caressing his sweaty locks. “I’m glad you can’t catch this because I wouldn’t be able to stand seeing you suffer.”

Atsumu noticed Kiyoomi’s puzzled expression and laughed quietly. “We had a bet about you and your cousin. Kita made us promise not to say a word, though.”

Kiyoomi rolled his eyes to that revelation. “And may I ask what was your guess?” He lowered his hands to Atsumu’s cheek, feeling him smile through his touch.

“Don’t laugh, but I was betting you were a fairy or something.”

“Did you now?” Kiyoomi hummed. “A good guess, but I’m afraid you were wrong.”

“Will you tell me, then?” Atsumu asked but Kiyoomi shook his head.

“That’s for you to find out the next time we meet.”

A single tear fell from Atsumu’s eye, and Kiyoomi soon wiped it away with his thumb. “Wait for me, Omi. I promise I’ll find you again, no matter how long that takes or how many lives I have to live.”

Kiyoomi pressed his lips together to suppress the sob that threatened to leave his parted lips. He kissed Atsumu’s forehead tenderly, wishing to remember the softness of his skin for many years in the future, until he finally managed to touch it again. His mouth traced a path through the sides of Atsumu’s face, accepting his promise in a whisper right into his ears. Maybe then his voice wouldn’t be completely forgotten and Atsumu would recognize it amidst so many other dull sounds.

“I’ll hold on to that, Atsumu.”

“Let me look at you one last time.” Atsumu asked and Kiyoomi complied.

There were more tears wetting his cheeks now, like an unstoppable ocean wave. Atsumu’s fingers were trembling when he gathered enough strength to move them. He didn’t touch Kiyoomi but the vampire leaned into his hand despite its repugnant appearance, not once frazzled by it.

“I’ll make sure to remember your pretty face next time,” Atsumu mumbled, watching quietly as Kiyoomi kissed the healthy part of his hands one more time before moving to put his mask back on.

“Goodbye, Atsumu.”

“See you soon, Kiyoomi.”

By the time Kiyoomi left the hospital it was already raining. He faced the sky and let the water wash away his red tears, to take away every trace that Atsumu could’ve left. Yet, no matter how hard it hit him, the rain would never be able to erase the images of Atsumu’s shining eyes and dazzling smile out of his mind.

Those precious memories were the ones Kiyoomi would spend the rest of his eternal life treasuring, hoping someday he would find the man who created them again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the author also cried while writing and proofreading this  
> Don't give up on the fic, I swear things will get better
> 
> <3


	5. Renaissance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags updated and no trigger warnings this time
> 
> This is probably my least favorite chapter, but it's an important one
> 
> Thanks for all the comments on last chapter! It was a joy to read your reactions, even if painful
> 
> Enjoy!

Grieving was a process that worked differently from person to person but most of the time it happened in phases. First, denial and isolation; a common defense mechanism that usually eased the initial shock of one’s loss. Second, anger; a deflection of one's intense emotions, redirected and expressed as bitterness. Third, bargaining; a thousand possibilities and ‘what ifs’ running through one’s mind in an attempt to change the already proclaimed destiny. Fourth, depression; an avalanche of sheer sadness overflowing through one’s veins and rendering them useless for an unknown amount of time. And last but not least, the fifth phase concerned acceptance, certainly not achieved by everyone, but allowed people to move on and set free the tormenting feelings that had continuously haunted them for a very long time.

Kiyoomi had been through those five phases, repeatedly, like a never ending cycle. Every time Atsumu left or was abruptly taken from him, Kiyoomi was thrown back to the starting line. However, denial had always been the one Kiyoomi struggled the most to go through considering his feelings were kept in the same dark corner from before where no light shined on, ignored and despised by the very same person who originated them. During some rare moments when his impassive façade shattered, his feelings slipped through the cracks, leaving him naked and exposed. Thankfully, Motoya had always been there to pick up his pieces one by one and put them back together.

Throughout his life, Kiyoomi had eventually learned how to channel his emotions into other activities. It started with writing; pages and pages of meaningless sentences that together resulted in poems or short stories.

But when Kiyoomi’s world was blessed with the sight of a colorful palette, soft brushes of different sizes and a white empty canvas, suddenly writing had lost its appeal, being substituted by the art of painting instead.

They stayed for a considerative amount of time at Keiji’s home. The house was located in a place only a few people knew about, so it was safe to hide there without anyone noticing their never changing faces.

There, they had watched not only their continent, but the whole world as it quickly fell apart due to the Plague. No medication seemed to work on those poor patients who had been forced to meet death way before their time. It took years for the countries to get back on their tracks, and when it finally happened, Kiyoomi and Motoya decided it was time to go.

Eventually, they found themselves back to Italy.

“Kiyo, I brought you lunch!” Motoya removed his hooded coat and beret, placing them on the coat rack at the entrance. He ruffled his sweaty locks and carried the heavy sack on his back to Kiyoomi’s room, only to find it empty.

“Kiyo?” He looked around curiously in search of his cousin.

There was an empty tea kettle in the kitchen and no sound of running water from the bathroom, which meant Kiyoomi was probably hiding in his work room again.

Motoya took the steps down to the basement, a place Kiyoomi filled with a great variety of artistic tools over the years. The walls were tainted in different shades of paint, a mess of bright colors that Kiyoomi couldn’t be bothered to clean, even considering his high tidiness standards. Pieces of clay and marble were scattered across the floor, taking the respective shapes of vases and people. A few paintings could be found inside the room, mostly the ones that weren’t considered good enough to be sold and would soon become nothing more than firewood to keep them warm in winter.

Kiyoomi had his back to Motoya, dressed in a loose flannel shirt and a comfortable beige hose. In his hands Motoya could see a thin brush covered with black paint. Kiyoomi’s lines were firm but also gentle, one wrong move and his work would be doomed just like the ones now on the floor. His technique couldn’t be compared to those of famous artists but he had a few loyal clients who always came to him with a new proposal.

“You do know I could feel your presence the moment you walked down the stairs, right?” Kiyoomi asked without losing his focus, tilting his head to the side to further contemplate his ongoing painting.

Motoya released a breath he had been holding inside his lungs, afraid to startle Kiyoomi and be the cause of yet another ruined work.

“I’m aware, yes.” He sat on a nearby bench, crossing his ankles in front of him as he did so. “I brought a deer and left it in your room. It’s getting harder and harder to find wild animals nowadays. Don’t you think it’s time to change our tactics a little? Maybe go out at night to feed on humans?”

Kiyoomi turned slowly, his face showing nothing but disgust towards Motoya’s suggestion. His cousin stifled a laugh when he saw Kiyoomi’s cheek covered in green paint.

“We’re doing fine like this. I refuse to sink my teeth in a filthy neck.”

“Is this about the Plague?” Motoya watched as Kiyoomi’s body unconsciously flinched when he heard his words.

Ever since that time, Kiyoomi added a new mannerism to his almost infinite list, one that consisted in wearing a mask to every single place they went to. And going out hunting wasn’t an exception. “We can’t get sick, Kiyo. And to be honest, I think an animal’s blood is far more disgusting than a human’s.”

Kiyoomi twisted his nose at the thought. “Humans can carry a lot of diseases, Motoya.”

“So can animals.”

A long sigh left Kiyoomi’s lips and he realized their discussion was leading to nowhere as none of them was willing to drop the bone. He turned around and reached for a thicker brush, dipping it in blue before coloring the painting’s sky.

“I don’t want you to feel pressured in having the same feeding habits I do,” Kiyoomi mumbled. “You can find yourself some human blood and I’ll be fine with that.”

“What if something happens to you while you’re hunting by yourself? I need to look after my baby cousin.”

Motoya could hear Kiyoomi’s snort from where he was.

“Remember I was the one responsible for the bloodshed in Terushima’s castle, Motoya.” Kiyoomi had traces of smugness dancing across his face as he spoke. “I think I can take care of myself.”

Motoya stood and waved a hand in Kiyoomi’s direction. “Still not letting you have all that fun alone.” He paused by the doorway and called his cousin one more time.

“Almost forgot to mention that while I was in town a patron asked me if you were open for a commission. I told him you were free so he might show up later this week to discuss the details of your contract.”

Kiyoomi raised an eyebrow. “Are you my manager now or something?”

“Maybe.” Motoya shrugged. “You’ll thank me later when the paycheck comes in.”

As Motoya had previously mentioned, a person did knock on their door a few days later with a very generous proposal. The man represented a patron who was interested in a painting, a portrait, to be more specific. The person had seen Kiyoomi’s work during an exhibition and decided that his technique would be perfect to capture the person’s essence.

They spoke briefly about the arrangement and Kiyoomi listed the necessary materials he would need considering the nude nature of the painting and its desired size - almost one of a window; as requested by the wealthy patron.

Nudity wasn’t as problematic as it was in the past century. The classical culture Kiyoomi had lived through in Ancient Greece was reinvigorated, restoring a somewhat dormant appreciation for the human body and all of its parts. Therefore, nude paintings and sculptures were quite common not only in Italy but in other countries as well.

After Kiyoomi signed the agreement there was no more turning back. The patron’s identity was kept in secret due to political reasons, but the man assured Kiyoomi that he would be meeting them soon. The man gave Kiyoomi part of his payment to deal with any expanses and politely bid him farewell.

Later in Kiyoomi’s room, Motoya’s eyes widened in shock as he stared at the amount of zeros written in Kiyoomi’s contract. He turned to his vampire cousin with a sly smirk across his face and Kiyoomi knew he would be teasing him about it for the next couple of weeks or maybe even months.

“Not so fussy now that you’ve got a taste of it, huh? You definitely owe me one now, Kiyo.”

A huff left Kiyoomi’s lips at Motoya’s silliness before carefully folding the contract and placing it inside a drawer.

There was a reason why Kiyoomi hated going out to the market. More than just the number of people gathered on the streets, the obnoxious noises they constantly made or the sweat clinging on his nape due to the warmth underneath layers and layers of clothes. It’s a different kind of discomfort, one that not even his mask and long sleeved coat were able to prevent. It made his stomach turn and eyebrows to furrow further every time someone carelessly touched him or bumped his shoulder as he walked.

Kiyoomi had never been a person who craved physical touch, and as time passed by, he slowly found himself leaning towards a bigger aversion to it.

He ran a quick mental check before making his way back home, ensuring all the required materials had been bought; oil paint, a white canvas and brand new brushes among other materials.

Thankfully the market was not that far, but the distance was definitely another reason why Kiyoomi disliked the outdoors. The road back home was rocky and sometimes filled with bandits who were just waiting for the perfect opportunity to steal.

If Kiyoomi had killed one or two of them, no one ever found out.

A carriage was parked in front of Kiyoomi’s house and he briefly wondered who it could be. He checked around the house, wary of any strange noises or muffled screams, hearing nothing but chitchat. Maybe Motoya’s friend came to visit since it was so easy for him to make new ones.

“Oh, I think Kiyoomi just arrived. Would you like to meet him?” He heard Motoya’s voice from the living room as the door quietly clicked behind him.

“That’d be lovely, Motoya. Thank you.” An unknown female voice echoed through the hallway. It was high pitched, a little uncomfortable to Kiyoomi’s enhanced hearing.

Motoya met him halfway, nodding at the woman sitting on their couch and taking Kiyoomi’s purchases. “Your patron is here,” he said.

“Good afternoon, miss…” Kiyoomi silently asked for her hand and cordially kissed her knuckles.

“Elizabeth, but please call me Lizzie. I hate the formalities of the nobility.” She smiled softly, taking another sip of what Kiyoomi guessed was camomile tea. Her straight hair was dark and long, a beautiful clash upon her deep red long sleeved dress with golden flowery patterns through its length. A shiny necklace with amber-colored stones was laid over her chest. It matched her brown eyes beautifully.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m sorry for not being here as you arrived but I hope my cousin was able to make you some company.” He poured himself a cup of tea and sat on a leather armchair.

“He was a gentleman, there’s nothing to worry about.” She dismissed him with her manicured hands.

“I assume you’re here to start the painting? I can show you the workshop downstairs.”

“Oh no, there must have been some kind of misunderstanding.” As she was about to further explain the situation, someone knocked on the front door..

“Right on time.” Elizabeth seemed pleased. “Could you please open the door for him, Kiyoomi?”

Kiyoomi nodded shortly before moving, still a little confused about what kind of misunderstanding Elizabeth was referring to and why there was a man, apparently an acquaintance or a family member perhaps, waiting outside.

None of Kiyoomi’s assumptions could have ever prepared him for the shock of seeing _him_ again.

“Apologies for my lateness, you must be the artist Lizzie spoke so highly of. Kiyoomi, right?” Kiyoomi held his breath at the sound of a somewhat loud and heavy accented voice coming out of the man’s mouth. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Kiyoomi’s sluggish heart had just come back to life, hammering against Kiyoomi’s chest like the heavy beat of a drum. The first thump happened when KIiyoomi’s eyes landed on the hand now extended towards him asking for a handshake; short fingers attached to a broader palm. Kiyoomi never realized how much he missed their warmth until he clasped it with his own, something his aversion to touch couldn’t stop him from doing. The second, fourth and possibly sixth thump occurred as Kiyoomi’s eyes traveled through the man’s doublet and its white long sleeves and snug-fitting maroon jacket. But the arrhythmic heartbeats started the moment Kiyoomi stared into his eyes - or maybe it had stopped beating once for all. They were just as bright and meaningful as he remembered; a pool of honey that Kiyoomi wouldn’t think twice before jumping in. A different sight from the last one Kiyoomi had of them, lifeless with only a faint sparkle illuminating its corners.

The thoughts about the past triggered a turmoil inside Kiyoomi’s tightening chest, a mixture of yearning and grief that couldn’t be dissociated. A feeling that resulted in a contradiction, where half of Kiyoomi wanted to get as closest as possible to that man in order to relive those almost forgotten memories, while the other half wished to be as far from his as possible, avoiding the pain that certainly would come next.

Kiyoomi sent those thoughts back to where they belonged and resumed the path his eyes had been so thoroughly tracing.

On the man’s head there was a feathered hat covering part of his chestnut hair. Kiyoomi liked that color better than the strawberry blond from almost a hundred years ago, yet the light blond was still his favorite among them all.

One sharp intake of breath later and Kiyoomi was able to speak normally again.

“The pleasure is all mine.” Although his voice seemed composed, there was a certain tremulousness in each of his words. “Would you like to come in? I believe Elizabeth is waiting for you, sir...”

He waited for it, repeatedly chanting the name he wanted to hear inside his mind until he couldn’t tell reality apart from his imagination.

And despite the sudden confusion, all Kiyoomi knew was that now there were no more doubts about the man’s identity - as if he ever had any.

“Atsumu. Miya Atsumu.”

Kiyoomi wasn’t blind. He saw how Elizabeth’s eyes shined a little brighter when Atsumu sat right next to her, the matching gold bands around their left ring finger, the softness in Atsumu’s eyes when he looked at her, the familiarity of her touch upon his shoulders brushing away an invisible dust particle. Each of those gestures felt like a needle pinch on Kiyoomi’s pale skin, a discomfort that didn’t exactly cause him pain, an itch that couldn’t be scratched. The more he looked at them, the more he felt the needles sinking in, piercing through his skin and digging through his deepest layers. His lips were pressed into a thin line, trying to suppress the anger - or was it jealousy? The emptiness feeling settled in his chest.

Kiyoomi braced himself for the impact but to no avail. The fatal blow had been dealt when Elizabeth entangled Atsumu’s forearm with her own and her lips parted to speak.

“This is my husband Atsumu. And just to make things clear, he’s the one you will be painting,”

The needles turned into knives, tearing through Kiyoomi’s paper walls one by one until they reached his core. What was once a meaningless discomfort had become an excruciating pain in a matter of seconds, yet Kiyoomi’s expression suffered no change, remaining as composed as ever.

But the burning corners of his eyes couldn’t be so easily ignored.

Kiyoomi cleared his throat. “Of course, that can be arranged.” He looked briefly at Atsumu, who stared back at him with curious eyes. “Can I offer you something to drink, Mr. Atsumu? A cup of tea or a glass of water?”

“A glass of water would be wonderful, thank you.” Atsumu replied with a smile.

As soon as Kiyoomi was out of their sight, hands were pressed against his eyes and a quivering breath left his mouth. He composed himself quickly, though, focusing on the contract he had signed and the work in need to be finished. It was not the time to let his emotions get the best of him, so Kiyoomi did what he was used to doing in times like these, he pushed the treacherous thoughts aside and moved on.

Motoya asked if he was okay when he entered the kitchen and Kiyoomi sighed.

“Do you want to hear the truth or a lie?”

“Whatever you’re willing to tell me.”

Kiyoomi leaned onto the sink with a tight grip on its concrete surface. His eyes were focused on the tall glass of water and the small droplets racing to the bottom.

“I’m not, but I’ll manage.” He mumbled, feeling lighter just from admitting that.

“My door is always open in case you want to talk about it.” Motoya mentioned.

“We share the same room, you idiot.”

Motoya chuckled, happy to see Kiyoomi’s lips twisting upwards for a brief moment. “Good luck with the painting.”

“Thank you. I think I’ll need it.”

Painting a naked Miya Atsumu was more of a challenge than Kiyoomi had initially thought. The curves of his body were tempting enough to make Kiyoomi wonder how it would feel to get lost in them. Chiseled abs, toned arms, strong thighs and even a pretty flaccid cock resting between them. Kiyoomi held his breath the first time Atsumu stripped right in front of him - and obviously his wife, too. He could still remember Atsumu’s innocent voice asking him where and how Kiyoomi wanted him.

A sentence that certainly won a ticket straight to Kiyoomi’s dreams.

They decided on the perfect pose during their first meeting, hips tilted slightly to the side giving Kiyoomi a better view, one bent knee while the other dangled from the black sofa, and flexed arms casually placed behind his head. Kiyoomi’s fingertips tingled whenever they met Atsumu’s body, adjusting his limbs according to his artistic insight. No professionalism could ever hide the way Kiyoomi’s thirst increased every time he came near Atsumu, especially on the days where there were only the two of them.

Colorful cushions were placed around him on the sofa where Atsumu now spent most of his afternoons. Two red ones, under his head and next to his feet, to symbolize love, and two purple ones and one single orange cushion in the middle, reaching his torso, waist and upper thighs, to represent nobility and Atsumu’s enthusiasm They matched his light complexion and the dark strands of short hair, offering life to the painting already burning brightly from Atsumu’s sheer beauty and intrinsic glow. The workshop almost fell too small, too suffocating, whenever the afternoon light creeped its way into Atsumu’s body, bathing him completely in traces of gold.

At first their conversations were restricted to Kiyoomi’s requests. A ‘move a little to your left’ or ‘bring your leg closer to the sofa’, but as they got used to each other’s presence that also changed within time. As a result of their curiosity, new questions started to pop up once in a while, all the previous cordiality being long forgotten and giving space to a growing friendship. Instead of insignificant inquiries there was concern. Kiyoomi knew from the way Atsumu was less talkative than usual that he was having a bad day. Atsumu, on the other hand, learned that Kiyoomi’s words became sharper and bolder when he felt frustrated.

Silence was comfortable and no longer stifling, as was the place they had been for months now.

Kiyoomi’s problems started when the comfortableness and familiarity shifted into something else, an affection and yearning that brought him back to hundred of years ago and filled his mouth with the taste of the sea forever stuck on his tongue, and his mind with bittersweet memories of the person he had lost.

One day, Atsumu was gloomier than usual, eyes hypnotized by the paint on the walls and mouth surprisingly shut. He had fallen on the sofa in a loud thump, without even turning to acknowledge Kiyoomi’s presence.

Kiyoomi held tightly onto his brush as an unsettling feeling filled his stomach. It felt wrong to paint when he knew there was something wrong with Atsumu. He wanted to capture the best of him, his brightest moments and his overwhelming happiness, not the valleys on his forehead or the frown of his mouth.

He set down the brush and went to the kitchen, bringing back a glass of wine and offering it to Atsumu, who accepted it with a nod. Kiyoomi stared at his Adam’s apple bobbing as Atsumu took a large sip. His lips had a purplish shade now and Kiyoomi wondered if he could paint them like this instead.

Eventually, he broke out of the spell, only to cover Atsumu’s privates with a clean white sheet and sit on the floor, back leaning against the middle of the sofa, next to Atsumu’s belly.

“No painting today, just tell me what’s wrong.”

“We had a fight, that’s all,” Atsumu mumbled.

The wife. Kiyoomi should have known.

He had learned a month into their contract that Atsumu’s engagement was almost purely political. His family wanted him to marry a noblewoman with enough wealth to bring fame to his family’s name. It wasn’t arranged, however, as they allowed Atsumu to choose, and the man had truly fallen in love at the time. They shared a half-decent backstory, and Kiyoomi never once doubted the veracity of their feelings towards one another. But with the same intensity they loved, they also fought.

“What’s different about this one?”

Atsumu sighed after taking another sip of wine. “Have you ever been in a relationship, Kiyoomi?”

Kiyoomi’s head tilted back and his eyes shifted to Atsumu’s face before answering, memories of the past centuries coming in flashes and making him wish he could go back in time.

“I don’t think they lasted enough to be called that.”

Atsumu turned sideways, using both hands as a pillow while he curiously looked at Kiyoomi.

“Do you think…” He started to speak but gave up on the idea. “No, forget about it. I’m just being stupid.”

“Nothing new about that.” Kiyoomi’s smile became wider when he listened to Atsumu’s whines. “Just say it, Atsumu.” He nudged at him with his head, a gesture of encouragement.

“I’m having second thoughts, I guess. About us.” Atsumu was far more interested on the floor than meeting Kiyoomi’s judgmental gaze. “Lizzie is so sweet, caring and respectful, and I do love her very much. But lately we’ve been acting more distant, as if we were no longer meant to be. And it got me thinking, is that what I really want? Is she really the person I should be spending the rest of my life with?”

When he finally turned to Kiyoomi, confusion and desperation swirled across his face like the remaining wine inside his glass.

He looked at Kiyoomi like he was his salvation, the only one who could set him free from those troublesome feelings.

“My sister ran away from home to go after the love of her life, to live an adventure. I’ve always wanted to feel that kind of freedom but life had other plans for me.” Atsumu’s words trembled as he continued to speak, taken by his own emotions that left him on the verge of tears.

It hurt Kiyoomi to see him so devastated for someone else. He wished to have him, to show the happiness he had been missing, but since he couldn’t, the least he could do was pray for someone else to provide him that.

“You’ll be fine, Atsumu. It’s just a bad phase we all must go through.” At the sight of a tear falling down from Atsumu’s face, Kiyoomi raised a hand ready to wipe it off but in the end decided not to. Trespassing that intimacy line wasn’t something he was ready for yet.

“I know you love each other very much, I’ve seen the way she looks at you. Maybe she has some difficulty demonstrating that, hence the painting.” Kiyoomi tried to ease Atsumu’s heart even though he wasn’t known for being a good counselor. “Don’t throw it all away now, you might regret it in the future.”

Just like he regretted letting Atsumu slip through his fingers so many times before.

“A bad phase, huh? I think you may be right, Kiyoomi.” A small smile had returned to Atsumu’s face.

They spent some time trading glances. Minutes were wasted analyzing each other’s features like a puzzle to be solved. There was a certain tension in the air, knots inside their stomachs of unknown origin, unspoken words and thousands of thoughts running through their heads.

Kiyoomi had never felt such a strong desire to touch someone else. His hands ached to know if Atsumu’s skin was just as soft as his previous versions, and his lips tingled to trace a path they already knew by heart.

Atsumu was the one who dared to speak first.

“You know, Kiyoomi. If I wasn’t married or already in love, I think I’d have fallen for you instead.”

Those words resulted in the blossoming of a different kind of pain, not just physical but mostly emotional. Kiyoomi felt his chest tightening to the point of almost exploding only to feel it empty afterwards. Numbness spread through his toes and traveled to the other parts of his body like a disease that couldn’t be controlled. His body became paralyzed, uncoordinated limbs no longer following his brain’s commands and falling uselessly on the floor. An overwhelming mess of emotions that were like pigments, resulting in black when mixed.

The heaviest color of the spectrum, one that could be referenced as elegance and mystery but was commonly associated with death and emptiness. A lack of feelings or sensations. Would he even be able to feel Atsumu’s hands if they touched him right now? Or was he too lost within the voidness of his headspace to recognize it? Inside Kiyoomi’s chest there was a hole left by all of Atsumu’s previous lives, a blank space that waited to be filled or stained only to go back to its hollow state after being colored.

The realization that this Miya Atsumu would never belong to him hit Kiyoomi like a thunder strike. Worse than wondering what it would be like to call Atsumu his, was knowing how good they could be together given the opportunity. The brief touches he had experienced and the kisses he had tasted were taken from him abruptly, leaving him with nothing but a promise he held onto.

But Atsumu didn’t remember his voice or his appearance, and Kiyoomi felt like he had lost his last chance.

He had spent too many nights thinking about the life he could have been living now if he chose to take a step forward instead of two steps back. Sometimes he wished to go back and test the options he had in mind, but life wasn’t a toy to be played with and Kiyoomi was no God, just a regretful vampire who was too afraid to face the consequences of his own decisions.

“Are you okay?” Atsumu’s face was a few centimeters away from his. Kiyoomi couldn’t count his eyelashes but Atsumu stood close enough so that he could identify the cedarwood in his fancy cologne.

“I…” Kiyoomi’s chest heaved quickly and his eyes started to burn.

Worried that one more word would lead him to his downfall, Kiyoomi stood up in trembling legs and exited the room without sparing Atsumu another glance. At that moment, even the sight of him was too much to bear.

Kiyoomi’s knees gave in to the pressure on his back as soon as his feet touched the sacred grounds of his room. His solid walls crumbled down along with the fall, one by one until there was nothing left to hide. The place started to shake just as much as his shoulders while he finally set free all those pent-up feelings from thousands of years ago. Blood stained the hands now pressed to his eyes and his worn-out clothes, pooling on the floor beneath him and creating a scene similar to a murder. Maybe Kiyoomi’s pain could be compared to one of being mercilessly killed, to have his heart ripped out of his chest and crushed by the hands of a man he now realized he missed more than anything.

A man he would never have again.

Motoya, who had watched the scene unfold, was in front of Kiyoomi in an instant.

“Oh, Kiyo…” He caressed Kiyoomi’s curls like a mother would do to her child, offering emotional support through a seemingly innocent gesture. “It finally hit you, didn’t it?”

Kiyoomi never gave himself a chance to mourn over each of Atsumu’s previous lives. Scars were added to his heart like in a collection, and the feelings attached to them had been long forgotten - or simply pushed aside; as he refused to face them properly. He ignored the situation until it turned into a ticking bomb, and it was only a matter of seconds before it exploded.

People said time was the cure of all wounds but Kiyoomi was still patiently waiting.

“It h-hurts,” Kiyoomi tried to speak between his sobs. “Hurts so m-much, Motoya.”

He wrapped his arms around Motoya’s waist, holding him so tightly it bruised his skin through layers of clothing. “I’ve lost him before and there’s nothing I can do to change that,” Kiyoomi wailed while Motoya’s hands moved across his back. “I’ve watched him die right in front of my eyes and I did nothing. I couldn’t save him.” He pressed his forehead against Motoya’s stomach, wishing he could disappear for a moment or maybe for a lifetime. “It hurts to look at him now, seeing how happy he could’ve been if I had turned him.”

How happy he was without him.

Truth be told, Atsumu never needed Kiyoomi. He had no memories of what happened between them, and hadn’t been given enough time to create an emotional bond as solidified as Kiyoomi’s. To Atsumu, Kiyoomi would always be an acquaintance - an spectator to his plays, a trustworthy lord, a passenger in his ship, a skillful painter; an ephemeral presence in his life, another face bound to be forgotten. To Kiyoomi, on the other hand, Atsumu was more than that. He considered him a friend, someone who managed to pull up a smile or two on Kiyoomi’s stoic face, providing him the comfort he had been missing for far too long and showing him the little things worth living for.

Subconsciously, Kiyoomi needed Atsumu more than he thought so. And that’s why the realization of not having him brought so much pain to Kiyoomi’s wounded heart.

Motoya sighed and sadly looked at Kiyoomi’s overwhelmed state. “You did the right thing, Kiyo. You need to accept that to recover and let go of that burden.”

“Maybe the universe will give you another chance when it feels you’re ready for it, but now take this as a lesson to be learned and stop hiding from me all the time, for God’s sake,” Motoya huffed in irritation.

“I feel like the universe is mocking me for letting him go the last time, showing a version of him I can’t have.” Kiyoomi was calmer now, Motoya’s words had been comforting enough. “What if I never see him again?”

“Then I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do about it, Kiyo.” Motoya pushed Kiyoomi’s hair back and tilted his head upward to meet his bloodshot eyes. “But something tells me this isn’t the end of your story. Be positive, who knows what the future may bring us.”

“Unfortunately our minds work in very different ways.” Kiyoomi gently brushed Motoya’s hands away and made his way to the bathroom in order to clean his messy hands and get rid of his clothes.

He turned to Motoya after assuring there was no more blood on his skin. “I want to ask you a favor.”

“Of course.”

Kiyoomi took a deep encouraging breath. “As soon as I finish his painting, let’s move out. To another city, another country, I don’t care. I just don’t want to be around him anymore. I need time to recompose myself and process everything that’s happened so far.”

He felt a hand against his shoulder. Motoya’s were tainted with red when Kiyoomi looked at them.

“I’m really proud of you, Kiyoomi.” Motoya smiled through his unshed tears. “Say the word and we’ll be gone, I promise.”

“Thank you, Motoya.”

“No need to thank me. That’s what family is for, right?” He laughed as Kiyoomi’s nose twisted because of that repulsive word.

A reaction that made Motoya happy nonetheless.

Since then, Kiyoomi and Atsumu’s relationship regressed to a point where they barely talked to each other. As if those months of growing friendship based on deep conversations and meaningful smiles hadn’t meant a thing. Now the only bond they shared was the signed contract kept inside Kiyoomi’s drawer; a relationship strictly professional and nothing more than that.

The distance between them bothered Atsumu more than Kiyoomi thought it would. Kiyoomi knew that by the sound of his constant snorts and his venomous replies. He reminded Kiyoomi of a stubborn child who didn’t get the most expensive Christmas gift on his list.

And just like one, it didn’t take long for Atsumu to demand an explanation.

“Why have you been avoiding me, Kiyoomi?” Atsumu was halfway through dressing up when he turned to Kiyoomi after making sure his knee-length breeches wouldn’t fall.

“You’re delusional, Atsumu.” Kiyoomi didn’t take his eyes from his brushes, cleaning them thoroughly, one by one.

“No, I’m not! Since the day you left me here you’ve been acting weird, like you can’t bear the thought of being near me.” He gestured vaguely with his hands, moving them as he spoke.

“Maybe because I can’t.”

Atsumu shook his head, skeptic. “That’s a lie and you know it. You used to ask about my well-being and listen to my stories, but now there’s only silence between us.”

“That’s called being polite. The painting is almost finished anyway, so I won’t have to deal with your face for much longer.” Kiyoomi covered the painting with a sheet and moved leisurely across the room to close the windows.

“I thought we were friends.”

Kiyoomi stopped by the doorway, body visibly flinching from the arrow shot straight through his heart. He turned his head slowly with eyes first focused on the floor before falling onto Atsumu’s face.

“I’m sorry, Atsumu,”

That was Kiyoomi’s last whisper before he left.

Elizabeth loved everything about the painting, from the delicate colors and lines of Atsumu’s face to the contrast of the well-placed cushions against the black sofa. Tears of joy pooled around her eyes when she saw the finished work. She wrapped her arms around Atsumu’s waist while complementing Kiyoomi’s skills and his commitment, saying he managed to capture Atsumu’s most beautiful parts.

As she left the room carrying the painting under her arms like her most precious treasure, Kiyoomi found himself alone with Atsumu again.

“I already know the answer to this question but I feel the need to ask.” Atsumu said, a little embarrassed. “Are you interested in painting me again?”

Kiyoomi had his hands stuffed inside the pockets of his thin coat. He started to walk towards the entrance by Atsumu’s side.

“I appreciate the offer, but I must let you know that I’ll be moving to another country this weekend. I received a generous proposal from a German patron.” He explained.

Atsumu had a hopeful smile on his face. “What if we make a better one? Would you stay, then?”

“Italy has brought me a lot of good things but plenty of bad ones, too.” Kiyoomi could now feel the breeze brushing past his face through the front door. “I think it’s the perfect time for a change of scenery.”

“People say the landscapes are breathtaking there.” Atsumu mentioned, though Kiyoomi couldn’t help but notice how sad he truly sounded.

“I’ll find out soon.”

Atsumu stepped outside but Kiyoomi stayed in. He felt something akin to a déjà-vu - an expression he had learned from Keiji; like the first time he met this particular Miya Atsumu.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Kiyoomi.” Atsumu placed the feathered hat on his head and silently asked for one last handshake.

“The pleasure was all mine.” Kiyoomi lied and they both knew it yet none of them acknowledged it.

Inexplicably, it still hurt to watch Atsumu go. Kiyoomi’s chest showed signs of that familiar tightness but his eyes no longer burned with the need to cry, neither he lost control of his emotions.

Maybe things finally started to change for good after all.


	6. World War I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags updated! 
> 
> I have so much fun answering to your comments, truly. They make me really happy. I still can't believe people are enjoying the story this much. And I'm super excited to hear your opinions on this chapter, since it's one of my favorites
> 
> TW // WWI, blood, injuries
> 
> Enjoy!

There was a man sleeping next to Kiyoomi’s half naked body when he woke up in the morning.

“Hey,” Kiyoomi shook him awake. “You need to leave.”

The man, whose name Kiyoomi struggled to remember - was it Klaus? Karl? Whatever; didn’t even try to hide his yawn as he stretched. Kiyoomi’s eyes lingered on his square jaw, messy blond hair, and broad chest. He hadn’t been Kiyoomi’s best one night stand, a decent fuck that could have lasted more if not for the man’s slightly inebriated state. At least his stunning appearance and heavy german accent made up for his lack of enthusiasm in bed.

“I had fun,” the man spoke with a lazy smirk on his lips. “You certainly know how to take care of your customers.”

“Gross,” Kiyoomi mumbled. “Now get the fuck out of my house.”

As soon as he heard the front door close, Kiyoomi met the comfort of his pillows once again. His nose wrinkled at the smell of his sheets, reeking of alcohol and sex. That seemed to be enough of an incentive to make Kiyoom move out of his bed and clean the mess they did on the previous night. A citrus fragrance soon filled the room, relaxing Kiyoomi’s muscles and allowing him to breathe normally again.

Kiyoomi checked the clock on the wall and walked down the stairs leading to his pub.

The place was dimly lit and small, with room for no more than a dozen people, but its inside had a certain charm. Several framed pictures, some even painted by Kiyoomi in the past, and newspaper pages decorated the pub’s walls. There were four stools at the bar, and a few round wooden tables scattered on the left near the pub’s large windows with one to three chairs circling each of them. On the right was where Kiyoomi spent most of his time, hiding behind a large counter and serving the drinks displayed inside a glass cabinet.

Kiyoomi picked up a cleaning rag and a broom from the storage room on the back to start sweeping the floor and dusting the counter and tables.

That same routine had been settled ten years ago, since they moved to a new city in Germany. Kiyoomi took care of his pub in the morning and afternoon, often going out in his masked attire to increase the stock of alcohol and other supplies. He waited for Motoya to return from his work in a nearby factory to open the pub and welcome his customers. People were nice enough, those who visited Kiyoomi’s pub never looked for trouble, only a good glass of Kiyoomi’s best drink - or the most alcoholic one; as a stress relief, and a casual conversation led by the rhythm of Kiyoomi’s favorite classical symphonies. Motoya usually left first since he had to wake up at five in the morning, although his stubbornness was enough to make him stay sometimes, too. And so they watched people leave, the familiar faces and the unknowns, one by one, emptying their wallets before crossing the door to the streets.

However, the sound of the front door being locked rarely meant Kiyoomi’s night end.

Tired of waiting for a person whose path would possibly never meet Kiyoomi’s again, he decided it was about time to enjoy life the way he was supposed to. All the yearning had been pushed down, and memories burned to ashes along with the feelings strongly attached to each of them. Hope became nothing more than an illusion, something Kiyoomi couldn’t hold on to anymore. Atsumu’s image slowly transformed into a chimera, trapped inside Kiyoomi’s mind and destined to forever live in his dreams.

Almost five hundred years later, Kiyoomi finally saw the perfect opportunity to move on and leave the past behind.

What had started as an innocent fuck soon followed a schedule. Kiyoomi had well-established rules and he never hesitated before kicking someone out of his bed if they weren’t strictly respected. Sobriety was crucial, Kiyoomi would never have sex with someone who could barely walk straight; no touching unless Kiyoomi asked for it and no sleeping with the same person twice.

It passed by unnoticed how the men Kiyoomi used to sleep with shared the same physical traits. Light blonde hair, smug smile, a rather loud heavy accented voice, strong muscles, and thick thighs. Some would say it was only a coincidence, maybe an evidence of Kiyoomi’s preferences or his type.

But there was one person who identified Kiyoomi’s patterns better than himself.

“Evening, my dear cousin!” Motoya spoke as he walked through the door and met Kiyoomi’s eyes from his place behind the counter. “I’ll head upstairs to change and I’ll be right back.”

Kiyoomi stared at the bags under Motoya’s eyes and his tired smile. “You can rest tonight, I’ll take care of business.”

“I’m fine, just haven’t fed in a while.” Motoya sighed and sat in front of Kiyoomi. “Actually, I need to talk to you about this, Kiyo. It’s getting harder and harder to find wild animals while living in the city. Don’t you think it’s time for a change? I know about your concerns but this is a huge risk for us.”

Kiyoomi set aside his book and frowned at his hands. He knew food had been scarce lately and his body suffered the consequences of his questionable choices. His movements were slower than usual and he struggled to resist the sight of a throbbing jugular vein. The thoughts of sinking his teeth into someone else’s neck were inviting, a desire that crawled upon his skin and sent chills down his spine, but still enough to make him nauseous, enough to make him say no.

He knew he couldn’t keep living like this for much longer. It was simply a matter of time before another bloodbath happened. Kiyoomi’s decisions affected Motoya’s life as well, who had been dragged into this mess as he refused to drink from humans ever since Kiyoomi walked into his life. Motoya never insisted, agreeing to Kiyoomi’s rationale after making the same question every five years or so. But he wasn’t able to hide his emotions properly, and his discomfort showed through his features as clear as a cloudless summer sky.

“I’ll think about it,” Kiyoomi said. In his eyes there was a silent plea for forgiveness.

Motoya understood the message and smiled sweetly. “Thank you, Kiyo. You’re the best.” He reached for Kiyoomi’s hand and squeezed it gently before getting up. “I’ll be right back!”

The night was so far peaceful. A group of people filled one of the tables while there were three others scattered across the room. Motoya was talking to one of them, someone who quickly became more than an acquaintance but not exactly a friend. Their laughs filled the empty corners and brightened the mood, an addition to the melancholic and romantic sounds of Richard Strauss’ Cello Sonata.

Kiyoomi saw a hand in the air asking for another glass of beer and soon faced the barrels behind him to fill the man’s empty cup. He felt Motoya’s presence by his side when the front door opened and a new group of people walked in.

“Kiyoomi, they’re from the Imperial German Army.” Motoya whispered in his ear. “One of them has a few military decorations, they look so shiny!”

Europe was on the brink of a calamity, divided into two coalitions ready to fight for their honor at the sound of a whistle: the Entente against the Alliance. Since two weeks ago, after the current German leader announced full support to Austria-Hungary’s cause against Serbia, the country - and possibly the whole continent; lived in anticipation for what was about to come. Some predicted a war, a huge conflict that would be responsible for an even worse aftermath, others didn’t believe this would result in anything more than a political agreement to appease their animosity.

They took a seat by the bar and Kiyoomi didn’t bother facing them as they arrived in all their glory. People praised and thanked them for their hard work, asking for classified information about the war, which was obviously denied. Kiyoomi could listen to three different voices, one of them in particular was louder than the others.

Needless to say, it annoyed Kiyoomi the most.

The owner of that distinct voice asked for a glass of Kiyoomi’s best whiskey and Kiyoomi poured him some before leaving the glass on the counter and going to the back room, no glances spared to their faces. He patted Motoya on the back and asked him to take care of the pub for a while. Kiyoomi lacked the patience to deal with those who enjoyed putting bullets into other people’s heads, and besides, Motoya was more than capable of dealing with them by himself.

About forty-five minutes later Kiyoomi made his way back to the bar and the soldiers were nowhere to be seen. He felt thankful for that.

Motoya waved a piece of napkin in front of Kiyoomi’s face.

“Someone left you a message, Romeo.” He teased Kiyoomi with a grin. “Seems like one of the soldiers was interested in knowing you better. He asked me a lot of questions about you, too.”

Kiyoomi raised an eyebrow at the sight of a messy handwriting. He tilted his head to the side and managed to read the message written.

_‘Some would consider it rude to not even look at your customers while serving them._

_Wait for me when I return from my next mission, Kiyoomi.’_

Kiyoomi snorted at the man’s audacity and threw the note in the nearest trash can. He would be having a talk with Motoya later about freely giving his name to strangers who walked into their pub.

“Poor guy, won’t you give him a chance? He was rather good looking, you know? Just your type, I would say.” Motoya leaned over the counter and wiggled his eyebrows at Kiyoomi, who seemed completely uninterested in whatever Motoya had to say about this man.

“Please enlighten me, Motoya. What exactly is my type?” Kiyoomi asked, moving to add another drink to his customer's tab. That definitely wasn’t one of his favorite methods but Motoya insisted on letting them pay whenever they could; it’s not like they needed the money anyway.

“The usual tall, blond, handsome, and well-built man with a heavy accent and a pretty voice.” Motoya counted the characteristics on his fingers, raising them one by one as he spoke.

“You’re being dramatic. I just choose whoever pleases me the most, there’s no rule.”

“If you say so…” Motoya shrugged but didn’t sound convinced at all.

Kiyoomi sighed and picked up his book from under the counter, still thinking about the most recent note he had received. It wasn’t uncommon for people to come over and ask for Kiyoomi’s preferences, for a chance to take him out on a date, or simply for a one night stand with no strings attached. Kiyoomi had what people called a one of a kind beauty, different from those truly born and raised in Germany; his curly dark hair and deep dark green eyes were just as mysterious as his entire demeanor. That was enough to make heads turn whenever he walked in a place - or in this case, when people walked into his.

Normal was boring, and Kiyoomi was very far from being ordinary.

Austria-Hungary declared war against Serbia and Russia, and the tenuous peace between Europe’s great powers soon collapsed. It was dangerous to walk alone on the streets despite the security provided by the Imperial Army. Kiyoomi could listen to the sound of gunshots, anguished screams pleading for their lives, marching soldiers patrolling every corner and invading suspicious houses. He could smell the population’s distress through the countless clouds of smoke, almost black from the amount of wasted gunpowder. Misery didn’t ask for their permission before walking inside, relentlessly destroying whatever crossed its path with a devastating nature and leaving behind nothing but tears.

The pub’s doors were open when people started running outside. Kiyoomi and Motoya quickly asked their customers to stay down when the first explosion bounced around the city walls, a sound so loud it deafened those who stood too close. The ground shook under their somewhat steady feet, grumbling like an empty stomach wishing for food. They could feel the fresh wounds, that same characteristic metallic scent floating along with tiny particles of dust, capable of making them salivate if not for the masked suffering behind it or the adrenaline running through their veins.

It may have lasted a minute or ten but Kiyoomi felt like a whole century had passed before the noise died down at least. People raised their heads slowly, seeing it was no longer dangerous to do so, curious eyes looking straight ahead through the windows in search of any explanation for that recent ruckus.

“Do you think it’s safe to leave?” Motoya whispered in his ear.

Kiyoomi’s lips formed a thin line as his face showed nothing but uneasiness.

“I’m not sure, but I’m about to find out.” He stood and looked at Motoya’s hand clasped around his ankles.

“Be careful,” Motoya said. Kiyoomi gave him a short nod before putting on his mask and walking to the front door.

A cloud of smoke welcomed him in a not very pleasant embrace, filling his lungs and burning his sensitive eyes. He blinked a couple of times and tried to dissipate most of it by continuously waving his hands but to no avail. The streets were empty except for the soldier’s rushed steps and a few whispered conversations. A normal person wouldn’t be capable of listening to their words, but thanks to Kiyoomi’s enhanced hearing he understood the situation they found themselves in. The French air force attacked a military base nearby in response to the German’s advances towards Belgium.

Kiyoomi was relieved by that piece of information, meaning there were no foreign soldiers on the streets and people could go back to their families safely. He was about to announce the news to the ones inside the pub when a deep groan caught his attention.

His feet followed the sounds in a heartbeat, only stopping once they found their source.

A man was sitting with his back against a brick wall, hands covered in blood pressed against a wound on his side. He had his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, muffling the painful moans that left his throat without his permission. His head swang from one side to the other and his lower limbs squirmed against the pavement but his torso stood still, an attempt to distract himself from his injury.

The black uniform he wore told Kiyoomi everything he needed to know before wrapping an arm around the man’s shoulder and helping him get up. He tried his best to ignore the smell of blood and how hungry he actually was, focusing on getting the man to a safe place.

“Can you walk?”

The man nodded, hissing as they moved towards the pub. “It’s a cut. We were evacuating the building when-” he groaned loudly, hand clutching tightly onto Kiyoomi’s shoulder. “When the second explosion happened. My friends were trying to get help but I told them to prioritize the others.” The man explained.

“Very noble of you,” Kiyoomi said, sarcasm dripping from his lips. “Now talk less and walk more. My place is only two blocks away.”

“It is my job to make sure they can sleep safely at night. My life is worthless compared to theirs.”

Kiyoomi stared at the man’s profile for a second. Although it was impossible to see the shade of his eyes from that angle, Kiyoomi was sure they showed nothing but bravery and passion, ignoring possible signs of discomfort. He could only wonder if all soldiers were as devoted as the one he carried in his arms.

Kiyoomi couldn’t pinpoint what but there was something terribly familiar about this man’s presence. Maybe he had just reached a new level of insanity.

The door’s loud thud startled Motoya, who had been anxiously waiting by the counter. He was even more surprised to see Kiyoomi carrying a very familiar face in his arms, one he met about three weeks ago.

“Atsumu? What happened to you?”

At the sound of that name, Kiyoomi dropped the man on the floor and took two steps back in order to properly look at his face.

“Oi! What the fuck is wrong with you?” Atsumu complained, as the impact jarred his wound.

The resemblance was clear when Kiyoomi had been given a chance to analyze him further under the lights. His amber-colored eyes were angry, directed especially at Kiyoomi and his boldness. Kiyoomi was set aflame by the spark they created; his cheeks felt warm to the touch and his sight was tainted in red by a pool of frustrated unshed tears. The oxygen in his lungs had been consumed by the combustion, and he gasped loudly for more. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out, vocal cords completely burned after years of being exposed to the same kind of fire.

His emotions were reborn from the ashes like a phoenix, and reflected Atsumu’s anger at that moment. How dared he come back after Kiyoomi had finally set him free? How could Fate move him around like a puppet in strings? Was it fun to play with his heart? To offer him someone unattainable? To see him suffer until his knees gave out?

Despite his struggles, Kiyoomi felt a bloody tear tracing a path through his cheeks. His bottom lip trembled, and his voice was just as shaky.

“Not again.”

“What the fuck!?” Atsumu's eyes widened at the blood coming out of Kiyoomi’s. “Is that blood? Are you sick?”

Motoya appeared by Kiyoomi’s side instantly, throwing an arm over Kiyoomi’s chest like he meant to protect him from Atsumu’s threatening gaze. However, Kiyoomi brushed Motoya’s hand away slowly and shook his head.

“I’ve had enough of this.” Kiyoomi kneeled in front of Atsumu. He took his time studying Atsumu’s face with a certain coldness this time, watching as the shape of his eyes changed according to his emotions; a flicker of fear, surprise, and curiosity.

Kiyoomi closed his eyes, then, and breathed in deeply. Nothing else mattered but the enticing scent coming from Atsumu’s body. Kiyoomi licked his lips involuntarily and his fangs started to come down. He didn’t stop them this time, not when he felt the pressure around his gums or when he heard Atsumu’s heartbeat skyrocketing instantly. His throat dried, anticipating that exotic taste he had been craving for too long now.

The fear in Atsumu’s eyes increased considerably, such as his interest.

“I’m a vampire,” Kiyoomi stated.

Atsumu was rendered speechless, mouth agape and eyes growing larger by each passing second. “A what? Look, this isn’t the time to play pranks.”

Kiyoomi raised an eyebrow. “Do my fangs look fake to you?” His voice was now emotionless, much different than its previous tone.

“You can’t be real,” Atsumu refused to believe in Kiyoomi, even though the truth was staring right back at him.

Kiyoomi shrugged, seeing there was not much he could do. He was about to stand when he felt a hand around his arm keeping him close.

“Wait,” Atsumu said. “If you’re really a vampire, then prove it.”

That grasped Kiyoomi’s attention. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Atsumu pointed his chin up, acting tough as a wicked grin appeared on his face. “Convince me that you’re a vampire and I’ll believe you.”

“You can’t be serious. How do you expect me to prove you that?” Kiyoomi arched his eyebrows, almost finding amusement in Atsumu's words.

Atsumu stared at the place for a minute or two, searching for his answer on the pretty paintings that caught his attention. “People do say a vampire’s blood can heal wounds.”

“You’re asking for my blood? You must be out of your mind.”

Atsumu chuckled. “I’m still perfectly sane, but since you’re denying, you must be the crazy one lying to people about being a vampire.”

Kiyoomi huffed, his whole face twisted in annoyance. He knew Atsumu was throwing Kiyoomi the line in hope he would bite the bait. He also knew he shouldn’t go ahead and fall into Atsumu’s trap like an animal lost in the woods, but Atsumu’s tone leaned towards a challenge.

And Kiyoomi couldn’t possibly back down from one.

“Fine.” He turned to Motoya. “Please hand me a knife.”

“Kiyoomi…” Motoya mumbled, and Kiyoomi offered him a weak laugh. “Trust me.”

He wasted no time before pressing the sharp blade upon his skin. “Your wound looks pretty bad, it may become infected. So you’ll have to drink this quickly since this cut will heal faster than usual,” Kiyoomi said without taking his eyes off the blood running down his arm. He was disgusted by the mess, sure, but offered his wrist to Atsumu without caring about the stains on the man’s uniform.

“If it doesn’t heal your wound, you can chop my head off right here.”

Everything about Kiyoomi screamed assurance and serenity, as if his words were absolute, leaving no breaches for questioning.

“Are you serious?” Atsumu's gaze shifted from Kiyoomi’s blood to his eyes.

“Time is running out, Atsumu. Or are you too afraid to find out the truth?”

Kiyoomi’s words were like ammunition to Atsumu’s intentions, proving that no matter his past lives, some things were just destined to remain the same.

Without breaking eye contact, Atsumu licked the blood dripping from Kiyoomi’s arm before latching his lips on the cut, sucking twice before the nauseating taste forced him to let go and break the spell cast upon their gazes. He retched dramatically, covering his mouth with the back of his hand and coughed until the taste was almost gone.

It didn’t happen as quickly as a magic trick, but soon Atsumu felt his body changing. A warmth spread through his stomach and reached his injured side in no time. The partially stemmed bleeding started healing, and Atsumu opened the buttons of his uniform to see it with his own eyes, mesmerized by his body’s reaction to a few drops of blood. He carefully pressed his fingers against the scarred and reddened skin, afraid of the pain he thought it would come but never did.

“Are you convinced now?” Kiyoomi asked, a pompous smirk dancing across his lips.

“Obviously. but…” Atsumu checked his dirty clothes and pressed his lips together, clearly troubled. “I’m curious about something.”

Kiyoomi hummed, a little disinterested but encouraged Atsumu to keep going.

“Do you feed on humans?”

Kiyoomi shook his head. “I’ve been trying to live without that, but as you can imagine, it’s hard to find animals in a city.”

“So my injury, the smell of blood, it made you hungry?”

Kiyoomi had a vague idea of what Atsumu was trying to achieve with all those questions. Yet he chose to answer them.

“Debatable,” he said. “I like to think I can control myself better than that, but to answer your questions, yes.”

“Would you like to have some? It’s only fair, you know. You gave me yours and I’ll give you mine.” Atsumu paused in between his words, as if he wasn’t completely sure about what he was proposing.

It was Kiyoomi’s turn to be dumbfounded. After a moment of silence, he regained his ability to speak.

“I’m not asking for something in return. You don’t have to do this, Atsumu.”

“I want to.” Atsumu’s eyes were brighter, swimming in a pool of mischief as he subtly challenged Kiyoomi one more time.

When he tilted his head to the side, exposing more of his neck, Kiyoomi’s self control slipped from his fingers. His tongue felt heavy inside his mouth, begging for a bite, a taste of the unknown. He had had innumerous dreams about this; the texture and taste of human blood. Would it be just like Motoya had told him when they first met? A heavenly drink made by the gods? That simple thought made Kiyoomi shudder.

A small part of Kiyoomi still tried to stop himself from leaning forward, telling him he shouldn’t say yes even though they both clearly wanted it. But the larger part begged him to take the offer, claiming Kiyoomi may never have the same chance again, with Atsumu nonetheless.

After years, Kiyoomi grew tired of losing so many opportunities.

“Are you sure?” Kiyoomi’s fingers were tingling, and it was an almost impossible task to take his eyes from Atsumu’s neck.

“Go ahead.” Atsumu’s words sounded like an invitation to cross a threshold.

And how could Kiyoomi be the one to blame for taking a step forward?

He unhooked the mask from his ears and touched Atsumu’s shoulder, looking into his eyes one last time and searching for signs of doubts but finding none. Atsumu’s determination was palpable, as if he was standing against enemy forces, ready to take a bullet for his country. And to Kiyoomi, that was more than enough.

So he leaned in.

Atsumu’s pulse quickened under Kiyoomi’s lips. He covered his neck with open-mouthed kisses, pressing his tongue upon the surface to ease Atsumu’s pain, and to selfishly feel his throbbing vein waiting for a bite. It didn’t take long for Kiyoomi to comply, sinking his fangs quickly into Atsumu’s flesh.

No one could have prepared Kiyoomi for the taste of human blood. The moment a drop of it touched Kiyoomi’s tongue, he felt like soaring in ecstasy. Worse than any kind of illegal drug, Kiyoomi became instantly addicted to its peculiar flavor; sweet at first but salty as it traveled through his throat, just like a heavenly piece of caramel melting in his mouth. It blinded his senses, turned his brain into a mess of possessive and pleasurable thoughts directed at Atsumu only. His entire body felt revitalized, finally satiating that everlasting hunger settled deep inside his bones.

Kiyoomi had no idea what ambrosia tasted like but if he had to bet on it, he would say it was similar to Atsumu’s blood.

He heard Atsumu gasp, possibly because of the initial sting, but after Kiyoomi’s first drink, those were replaced by moans instead. Kiyoomi felt Atsumu’s hands intertwining with his dark curly locks, pulling him closer to feel more of that indescribable sensation.

Kiyoomi knew about the possible side effects of a vampire’s bite. Motoya once warned him about the aphrodisiacal potential of their saliva, though it wasn’t very common, usually seen on people who were already romantically committed - maybe a match made in Heaven.

Even though he had never experimented human blood before, Kiyoomi knew no one would ever compare to Atsumu’s taste. There was something special about him, like that forgein spice you spent ages searching for to bring your main dish closer to perfection, like a different type of gunpowder that exploded in brighter fireworks.

Whatever there was left of sanity in Kiyoomi’s mind woke him up from his daze. He retracted his fangs from Atsumu’s neck and licked his wound to help it heal.

Atsumu whimpered, and he detached his already weakened hands from Kiyoomi’s hair. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking twice to adjust them according to the lighting. His face was flushed in pink, a lighter tone than his reddened neck, and he was struggling to catch his breath.

He looked debauched, a blissful sight to see according to Kiyoomi’s out of focus thoughts.

“You can stay the night if you want to.” Kiyoomi suggested.

“I…” Atsumu took a deep encouraging breath. “I think I’ll just head home.”

“Are you feeling alright?”

Atsumu nodded, still a little lightheaded. “I’m definitely more than alright, Kiyoomi.” He grinned, that stupid self-righteous smile that made Kiyoomi want to punch him and kiss him at the same time.

“By the way,” Atsumu added. “How often do you feed?”

Kiyoomi frowned at the question. “Around two to three times a month. Why?”

Atsumu paused by the front door, throwing his head back before answering. “Then, I guess I’ll see you in a few weeks, Kiyoomi.”

From that day on, Atsumu became the newest addition to Kiyoomi’s routine. He would show up as promised, once every two weeks - sometimes more or less frequently, depending on how busy his schedule was; and offered Kiyoomi his blood. Atsumu never asked for anything in return, not even a couple of free drinks. His curiosity and commitment were genuine, as if he had accepted this as a mission to be accomplished.

A month later Atsumu started to spend the night, claiming he was too tired to move since Kiyoomi always sucked the life out of him - his words, not Kiyoomi’s. Despite knowing that was a lie, Kiyoomi chose to not dwell on it.

He asked more about vampires; if there were others, how did they live, and how old Kiyoomi truly was. Kiyoomi explained about certain popular myths like garlic, silver, sunlight, and his supernatural abilities. Kiyoomi never mentioned their previous encounters, or revealed how he could read Atsumu better than the people who saw him on a daily basis.

Atsumu talked a lot about his family and how he wanted to make them proud; his beautiful sister, his deceased father, and beloved mother. He also spoke dearly about the friends he had made along the way, conquering more than just pieces of unfamiliar territory. Stories were shared of the current war and other previous battles he had participated; things he had seen and wished he could erase from memory, how he had been several times forced to act tough on the field but deep inside he was falling apart like a normal human being. His passion became almost see-through whenever he mentioned his duty to the country he was borned and raised in. There were no doubts in his voice when he told Kiyoomi he couldn’t picture himself doing anything else.

Atsumu was that kind of person people were jealous of. A person naturally gifted to excel in whatever he chose to do but only if he truly wanted to. Atsumu could become a goddamn physician or a school teacher if he put his mind into it. This time, Atsumu was adamant about protecting people, even if it required taking innocent lives. The end justified his means, that was what he believed in.

Regardless of their conversations, there was still one delicate subject they refused to discuss.

Until Atsumu decided he got tired of beating around the bush.

They were lying on Kiyoomi’s bed as the vampire leaned over Atsumu’s body and attached his mouth to his neck. The side effects of Kiyoomi’s bite only increased as they continued with their sort of agreement. It became harder to ignore it; the warmth pooled on his lower belly, the chills running up and down his arms, the tightening of his muscles, the lewd sounds leaving both of their mouths after each suck, the fingers desperately clutching at every piece of clothing.

Atsumu sobbed when he felt Kiyoomi’s fangs sinking deeper into his skin.

“Kiyoomi,” he called him breathlessly. “I need to confess something.”

Atsumu felt more than heard Kiyoomi humming against his neck, the vibrations of his voice against his skin turning his brain into mush.

“Your bites, they…” He struggled to focus and find the right words to say amidst a thousand different sensations. “They make me painfully aroused.”

Kiyoomi stopped and opened his eyes for the first time in a while, tracing a path from Atsumu’s quivering chest to the evident outline of his cock showing through his tight pants. He retracted his fangs, feeling a drop of blood still on his lips.

“Oh?” He looked at Atsumu curiously. Kiyoomi would be lying if he said he didn’t feel it too, maybe not as intensely as Atsumu, but there was something maddening about Atsumu’s moans and the way his body became pliant whenever his blood was being drained.

“So,” Atsumu’s focus was now directed at Kiyoomi’s crimson mouth. “Do you want to do something about it?”

A bony finger casually ran down Atsumu’s chest and traced the shape of his cock, feeling it twitch from the slightest touch.

“Maybe,” Kiyoomi was drawing circles on Atsumu’s waist when a pair of hands pressed against his shoulders until his back hit the mattress.

Atsumu wasted no time before framing Kiyoomi’s tiny waist with his thighs. He rolled his hips once, brushing their erections together through their clothes. Smugness dripped from Atsumu’s smile like blood from Kiyoomi’s fangs when he noticed Kiyoomi was just as fired up. The next time he deliberately forced their hips to meet, Atsumu watched Kiyoomi’s ever-so-composed face crack, head tilted back and hands searching for Atsumu’s neck to pull him closer.

They met halfway in a bruising kiss, all gentleness suddenly forgotten, giving space to their recently awakened thrist. Atsumu sucked on Kiyoomi’s bottom lip eagerly, wishing he had a pair of sharpened teeth too to sink them into that plump mouth. The faint taste of his own blood was still there, though it didn’t bother him anymore as he got used to its scent. Kiyoomi tugged at the softness of Atsumu’s blond hair and tilted his head to the side to deepen the kiss, making it even messier. Their tongues danced around each other, pulling back and pressing forward with urgency, drawing out groans that were soon swallowed down but were enough to create a spark.

It was like setting fire to a forest, one that started innocently and ended up engulfing each small patch of grass, leaving no sight of green behind. A sensation that started at your lower abdomen and spread to the other parts of your body. Their clothes got caught by the flames, disappearing from their bodies as quickly as a shallow river’s vaporization. The air was slowly being depleted from their lungs, leaving them both desperately gasping for more. Their bodies moved like a lit candle, a dancing flame that melted the wax below until there was nothing else to consume.

A flame so strong they couldn’t help but get burned.

The same warmth that heated their bodies at night now provided them comfort. Atsumu visited more frequently, twice a week when he had the chance, and Kiyoomi fell helplessly into that rhythm coordinated by their pleasure and affection, making room for Atsumu’s presence inside his home and inside his heart as well. It was useless to resist, especially when he had in his arms the person he yearned for during so many centuries. So Kiyoomi chose to let the wind carry away his insecurities along with the smoke coming from his incandescent heart.  
Kiyoomi knew he should’ve stayed away when he had the chance. Miya Atsumu had yet to do him any good, replacing those few happy temporary moments they used to have with heartbreaks that took at least twice the time to heal - that’s it, if they ever did.

But it felt nice. Having someone to talk to other than his cousin, not hiding his true nature, laughing about Atsumu’s stupidity and being concerned about his well-being during his missions. Falling asleep in his arms after a tiring day, and waking up to his goodbye notes or dozens of kisses across his face. It felt natural, like it was meant to be, like they were destined to meet like this.

It was almost too good to be true.

Whatever they had built over the last two months still remained unspoken and unclassified. They never mentioned it, as if it didn’t feel right to label a relationship that happened so naturally.

Motoya once said they were acting like friends who casually fucked and that was all. He warned Kiyoomi about the risks of welcoming Atsumu into his life again, explained that where there was smoke there was also fire and many hidden scars.

But Kiyoomi thought that maybe Atsumu was someone worth getting burned for.

Kiyoomi’s back was against the headboard, Atsumu’s hair tickling his chin from where his head rested on his chest. His fingers carded through Atsumu’s hair gently as he listened to his heartbeat, a soothing lullaby until it suddenly started to increase its pace.

“What’s wrong, Atsumu?” Kiyoomi tilted his head to the side wanting to meet Atsumu’s gaze, but Atsumu sat up straight, brushing Kiyoomi’s hands away as he did.

“I have a new mission tomorrow. They’re sending us to France as back up. We’re losing a lot of soldiers and possibly the war too,” Atsumu whispered, looking everywhere except to Kiyoomi’s face. “I should go and get my things ready. We’ll leave before sunrise.”

“Wait,” Kiyoomi reached for Atsumu’s hand. “This isn’t like your usual missions.” It was a statement not a question, though it sounded just like one.

Atsumu shook his head. “This is it, Kiyoomi. The moment I’ve been waiting for all my life, to fight for my country like I’ve been trained to.”

“You’re afraid you won’t come back alive.”

Atsumu nodded, confirming Kiyoomi’s assumptions.

Kiyoomi tightened his grip on Atsumu’s hand. He had never been so afraid to lose someone like he was of losing Atsumu that exact moment. Just the thought of not having him around was enough to turn Kiyoomi into a mess of fear and despair. He was too attached, too addicted to something he should have known it wouldn’t last, because it never did.

But it was different this time, Kiyoomi could still prevent the same catastrophe from happening. There was one thing he could do that would change absolutely everything and make sure that Atsumu would come back alive, come back to him.

The thin thread of hope had survived the fire.

And that’s why Kiyoomi didn’t think twice before opening his mouth.

“Let me turn you.”

Atsumu frowned in confusion, looking sideways at Kiyoomi. “What?”

Kiyoomi swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Let me turn you into a vampire. You just have to make sure you’ll be protected from the sunlight. Besides, I doubt they will decapitate -” He stopped talking when he heard Atsumu laughing.

“And why would I agree to that?” Atsumu’s eyes were cold when they found Kiyoomi’s, as if they belonged to someone else, a completely different person.

“To come back alive, you idiot.”

“And spend the rest of eternity with you? Look, you’re a great company and what we have is nice but that’s all.” Atsumu dropped Kiyoomi’s hand but it felt like he had let Kiyoomi’s entire heart fall, watching it shatter on the floor in a thousand little pieces. “I needed some stress relief and I was curious about the whole vampire thing. It was fun.”

_Fun._

“You’re telling me this was nothing but a game to you?” There was fire in Kiyoomi’s eyes, making up for the lack of it in Atsumu’s.

Kiyoomi saw red and it wasn’t because of his bloody tears, not this time.

“No! Of course not.” Atsumu raised a hand to touch Kiyoomi’s arm but backed away when he saw Kiyoomi’s fangs coming down. “I like you, Kiyoomi, but I don’t think I can do this, I have a family to go back to. And eternity is a very long time, I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”

Kiyoomi clicked his tongue and looked away. “Get out.”

“Kiyoomi, don’t do this. We can talk about this when I return.” Atsumu pleaded with his eyes but all Kiyoomi could see were lies masked by a pretty convincing performance.

“If you return,” Kiyoomi stressed the possibility. “You will stay the fuck away from me. If I ever see your face again, I swear to God I won’t hesitate before snapping your neck like a twig.”

Atsumu swallowed his next words and picked up his discarded shirt from the floor. “So this is it?”

“You probably won’t understand what I’m about to tell you, but don’t bother coming back after this life ends, Atsumu.” Kiyoomi had both hands closed tightly in fists, he could feel the crescent moon marks on his palms. “I’m tired of it.”

Atsumu walked in Kiyoomi’s direction, forcing their eyes to meet one more time. He saw the hurt hidden behind Kiyoomi’s deep irises, and that was almost enough to make him change his mind. But in the end Atsumu knew they just weren’t meant to be, that’s why he decided that leaving was the best option.

“I hope you find someone worth spending eternity with.”

Kiyoomi’s eyes fell shut when he felt the texture of Atsumu’s lips against his cheek, and the next time he opened them, Atsumu was no longer there.

The touch lingered for some time after that, like the scars on his heart from being carelessly burned so many times.

It was there after a week.

A month had passed and Kiyoomi still felt it but could no longer do so after the next one.

And the memory of it was bittersweet when Kiyoomi heard the news three months later.

_It is with a very heavy heart that I come to announce Germany’s defeat against the French army. Many soldiers died to stop their advances but unfortunately they got the best of us. Their deaths were not in vain, however, their efforts will be forever remembered by us and all future generations._

_Tonight we’ll pray for those men who died like heroes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: this chapter made me cry the hardest (actually it was the last one, but those were happy tears)
> 
> Next update will be the last one! Are you ready to finally see Kiyoomi getting his happy ending!? Because I am THRILLED  
> See you Monday!


	7. 2019 - ∞

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags updated!
> 
> This is it, guys! The moment you've all been waiting for  
> I just wanted to thank everyone who read this since the beginning and the ones who waited until it was complete, too! Thanks for giving a chance to this story I'm absolutely in love with. Every kudo/comment/bookmark means a lot to me
> 
> And a big thanks to my beta and all of her tears
> 
> Ps.: to have the best experience reading this, I reccomend you to listen to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QgaTQ5-XfMM&ab_channel=ThePianoGuys) song after /that/ decision (you'll know)
> 
> Enjoy!

Kiyoomi didn’t know a lot of things about love, but through the centuries he had learned there were many different types of that same feeling. The Ancient Greeks had identified eight of them, although Kiyoomi experienced only seven. _Storge_ was a natural and instinctive affection shared by parents and their children, one Kiyoomi felt towards his grandfather when he was young and human. _Philia_ could be described as a brotherly kind of love Kiyoomi developed for Motoya and it kept growing stronger. _Philautia_ , the self-love Kiyoomi had to learn in order to accept his true nature as a part of himself.

Kiyoomi thought he would be forever destined to those three kinds of love.

If only he hadn’t met Miya Atsumu.

Thanks to him, Kiyoomi learned about _Ludos_ the third time they met on that ship, a flirtatious and fun feeling able to put a smile on Kiyoomi’s face. The next type of love hit him like an arrow behind his knee, unexpectedly and painfully; _Mania_ , an obsessive, ugly and filled with jealousy sensation. _Eros_ was all about passion, lust and attraction, feelings he had shared with the last Atsumu he knew.

Kiyoomi came to realize many years later - maybe too late; that what he felt towards Atsumu was far more similar to _Pragma_ , an everlasting love developed over time, or maybe a combination of all seven types. Maybe Kiyoomi had fallen in love with Atsumu when they first met in that ancient theater, but _Pragma_ was responsible for keeping that flame alive through the years. It was what made Kiyoomi stand in love even after so many downfalls.

But understanding his love towards Miya Atsumu also meant learning about the pain of a broken heart. The misery of seeing him leave and the grief of accepting his death, over and over, until Kiyoomi grew tired of that suffering. He decided, then, that if their paths ever crossed again, Kiyoomi would just stay away as much as he could.

Atsumu did him good but was also the one to be blamed for most of Kiyoomi’s red tears.

That was possibly the reason why Kiyoomi and Motoya agreed to leave Europe and try to start a new life in Japan, a place where the chances to find another Atsumu were almost none.

Moving to a new country, however, usually meant choosing a new career.

And that’s what Kiyoomi and Motoya had been discussing for the last week.

“You should be a doctor!” Motoya exclaimed, imagining Kiyoomi in a white coat and a stethoscope around his neck.

Kiyoomi’s reply came in the form of a sarcastic remark. “Yes, because I love being around people, Motoya.”

“How about architecture, then? It involves art and math, and you like those things.” Motoya suggested, lying on Kiyoomi’s bed while the other was sitting in front of his computer.

“I don’t want to think about art again.” Kiyoomi mumbled, flinching as his mind brought back memories from the past centuries. “Journalism?”

“Hell no,” Motoya said. “Those people have no life, Kiyo. I want to keep my sleeping schedule as it is, thank you very much.”

“Well, I’ve ran out of options, then.” Kiyoomi stretched his arms towards the ceiling, groaning after each crack of his old joints.

“Hey, do you remember the first Olympics we witnessed? Have you ever wondered what it would be like to participate in that?” Motoya’s eyes were bright, excitement showing through a wide and playful smile.

“Wouldn’t that be against the rules considering our...abilities?”

Motoya shrugged. “We can control that, just don’t overdo it.” He quickly made his way towards Kiyoomi and shook him by the shoulders. “Please, think about it.”

Kiyoomi seemed conflicted, half of him actually liked Motoya’s idea but the other simply despised it.

“It’s risky,” He said.

“It’s _fun_ ,” Motoya corrected him. “Come on, let’s do something exciting this time. I’m tired of boring office jobs.”

A sigh left Kiyoomi’s mouth as he pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefingers. Since they were already taking huge steps regarding the many successive changes in their lives, he might as well throw all caution to the wind.

“Which sport?”

Motoya grinned, his playful yet wicked smile that usually meant no good.

“Oh, I have a list.”

From the five sports Motoya wanted them to try, they ended up playing three; racing was completely out of the questions because of Motoya’s suspicious driving skills, and just the thought of rugby was enough to make Kiyoomi’s stomach turn inside out.

So they agreed to swimming, boxing and volleyball.

They had a few swimming classes. Motoya loved to be underwater, swinging his arms like a pair of paddles and acting like he was a merman instead of a vampire. Kiyoomi appreciated having his own lane so he could swim without bumping into other people, however, the moment he caught a teacher scolding a group of children about peeing in the very same pool he had his own lessons, he immediately gave up.

Besides those fighters who insisted on using defensive clinches every ten seconds of sparring, Kiyoomi quite enjoyed boxing. He had a strong punch, although his footwork needed a lot of improvement. Also, wearing gloves was certainly a positive aspect to be considered. Motoya’s energy compensated for his lack of technique, but after being knocked out during the first round of his match, he decided that boxing wasn’t for him.

That left them with volleyball, lastly.

They weren’t immediately captivated by it, seeing no fun in spiking or blocking a ball with their bare hands, but at the same time they couldn’t stop playing. Volleyball required a lot of practice, dedication and thinking; it wasn’t just about who could run the fastest or hit the hardest, it also involved strategy and positioning. A game where you could focus on a single role until there was no more room to grow or become a player as versatile as a Swiss Army knife.

Yet, what made them stay had nothing to do with theory.

The burning they felt on their arms, hands and thighs were nothing compared to that victorious and utterly gratifying feeling after a well-played match. The drops of sweat falling from their foreheads felt more like an award for their combined efforts than an inconvenience. They stood proudly on the winning side of the court as if they had just climbed Everest, like they were on top of the world.

An indescribable feeling that made them hungry for more.

Kiyoomi and Motoya were great together, as a spiker and a libero, respectively. They won tournaments and increased their titles and status, eventually being spotted by a couple of professional teams because of their natural talent.

“Today I received a call from a team in Osaka, the MSBY Black Jackals.” Kiyoomi announced during their walk home from practice.

“Oh, really? I’m still thinking about Rajin's offer.” Motoya’s smile was weak, his eyes never left the sidewalk. “I wish they had sent you one too so we could play together.”

“Would you be okay with that? If I moved to Osaka.” Kiyoomi knew this was bound to happen sooner or later but after so many years together it felt wrong to be apart, to be without his cousin.

“We’re not attached at the hip or anything like that, Kiyo. You were always free to make your own choices and live your life.” Motoya inhaled sharply and pressed his lips together, fighting against the tears that threatened to fall.

“A small part of me might even miss you.” Kiyoomi tried to be casual about it but his voice betrayed him, showing just how sad he truly was.

Motoya forced out a laugh. “Are they any good?”

“Apparently, yes. Their libero seems to be a pain in the ass from what I’ve heard, though.”

That made Motoya laugh even harder. He patted Kiyoomi’s back and sent him a cheerful smile.

“I think you’ll be just fine, then.” Motoya pulled Kiyoomi by the wrist. “Come on, I’ll be a good cousin and help you pack your things.”

“I’ll call you once a week,” Kiyoomi said when they arrived at their apartment.

Motoya whined and screamed from the kitchen. “Thrice a week!”

“Twice.”

“Deal.” Motoya showed his grinning face through a small crack on Kiyoomi’s bedroom door before disappearing once again.

The Black Jackals were more than just good. A Division 1 team with strong and remarkable players. The first ones to introduce themselves were Meian Shougo, the team’s hard-working captain; Bokuto Koutarou, a hyperactive and overfriendly wing spiker; and Hinata Shouyou, a small and loud wing spiker who was just as chirpy as the other one. They showed Kiyoomi around, guiding him through their shared apartment building and introducing him to the other players. On court they were like savages, running after their prays like they were out in the wild, hungry for victory.

Kiyoomi admired that kind of spirit.

Despite their friendliness and passion over the months, Kiyoomi felt a lingering emptiness inside his chest every time he opened his apartment’s door. An itch that couldn’t be scratched and kept him awake at night. An unsettling feeling that washed over him and made him feel as though something was missing.

He had everything he could ever wish for but why did he still feel so incomplete?

“Nice service ace, Sakusa-san!” Hinata raised a hand for a high-five and Kiyoomi touched it briefly before nodding.

“You need to work on your receives, Inunaki.” Meain shouted from the bench and turned to coach Foster who was right beside him.

“I’m trying! Come here and let me see if you can get the ball when he flick his wrists like that.”

“Try harder, then.” Meian answered back. “Show us a few spikes now, boys.”

It was a short rally. Kiyoomi served from the back of the court, a jump serve that lacked strength and was aimed at Bokuto on the other side of the net. They sent the ball back and Hinata tried his best to make a decent toss. It wasn’t perfect but Kiyoomi had to find a way to hit it anyway. Inunaki received it, his face almost meeting the polished floor while he did so, and then the ball was back to Kiyoomi’s side of the court. Hinata didn’t even think before jumping as high as he could to score their point.

Kiyoomi grinned at Inunaki’s annoyed face.

“Who taught you to toss like that, Shouyou-kun? Need someone to teach you a thing or two?” A voice echoed through the room in a weird countryside accent.

“Atsumu-san!” Hinata ran at him, almost making them both fall from the impact. “You finally decided to join us?”

And then, as quickly as it came, Kiyoomi’s smile was gone.

He couldn’t believe his eyes. If this was a dream, Kiyoomi desperately wished he could wake up now as a delusion would be the most plausible explanation to why he was looking at another version of Miya Atsumu.

Their eyes locked and Kiyoomi listened to his steady heartbeat coming back to life, pounding harshly against his chest and begging to be released from its imprisonment. He tried to control them but it was useless, especially when Atsumu threw his gym bag on the floor and approached him slowly with a volleyball between his hands.

Atsumu looked good, maybe the best Kiyoomi had ever met. A bleached blond platinum hair slicked back, hiding the dark undercut that showed his natural hair color. He was tall, maybe a few inches shorter than Kiyoomi, and broad, his chest stretching the cotton of his obviously too small shirt.

“You must be Sakusa-kun, right? Nice to meet you.” Atsumu offered a hand and Kiyoomi stared at it with disgust.

Atsumu pretended that never happened and ran that same hand through his hair. There was a pout on his lips as he looked away, but it disappeared when he faced Kiyoomi again.

“A cold prince of few words, I see.” He tossed the volleyball around, from one hand to the other. “Mind if I set to you once? I wanna show you how good they can be.”

Kiyoomi gave him no verbal answer, positioning himself on his usual place to run and spike. His hands were sweaty so he brushed them on his black shorts until he could feel a sting; maybe that would be enough to distract him from the mess of thoughts running inside his head.

As soon as the ball left Atsumu’s hands, Kiyoomi sped up towards the net, eyes fixed on the ball and its movement as it floated into his direction. It was almost too easy to spike it, like his hands had a magnet attracting the tiny metallic particles spread across the ball’s surface. The spin was gentle and the height close to perfection.

Kiyoomi’s eyes searched for Atsumu’s before his feet were back to the ground. A pompous smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth, and Kiyoomi couldn’t help but stare as the tip of his tongue showed through his teeth. Kiyoomi’s chest fluttered, and he felt a little breathless.

Atsumu never ceased to take his breath away every single time.

“Hey, that was a great spike, Sakusa-kun!” Bokuto pointed at him excitedly. “Set to me too, Tsum-Tsum!”

“You better get used to them as I’ll be setting to you from now on.” Atsumu winked at Kiyoomi before turning away and greeting Meian with a friendly pat on his back. “I’ll get you that toss tomorrow at practice, Bokkun!”

Coach Foster happily introduced Atsumu properly, revealing he had offered him the position of first string setter after the end of his season for another team, but Atsumu hadn’t given him an official answer to that proposal, at least not until now. Apparently, only those particularly close to Atsumu, like Hinata, knew about it, since Foster decided to keep that information as a secret, not wanting to get anyone’s hopes up.

The moment his speech was over, Kiyoomi made his way to the locker room.

Atsumu looked curiously at his teammates. “Don’t you need to shower too?”

Hinata lifted his head like a meerkat. “Oh! Sakusa-san likes to shower alone because of his cleaning habits. It’s okay, you’ll get used to it soon, Atsumu-san!”

Atsumu hummed, pensive for a minute or so before shrugging. “He seems very prickly to me.”

“That’s just how Sakusa-san is, ‘Tsum! He’s a little distant but he’s a great guy.” Bokuto explained, asking Atsumu about his experiences playing for another team and cutting himself in the middle. “Why don’t we go out for a few drinks to celebrate? Like a welcoming party to Tsum-Tsum!”

Meain was the first who spoke up. “I’ll stay out of that one. And remember we have practice early in the morning tomorrow, Bokuto.”

Bokuto looked crestfallen, and Atsumu threw an arm around his shoulders. “It’s okay, Bokkun! We’ll have many opportunities to go out now that I’m here.”

That seemed to do the trick as Bokuto was soon back to his cheerful self, asking Atsumu hundreds of questions and acting genuinely interested in all his answers.

Kiyoomi left the locker room with his mask on, hands stuffed deep inside his jacket’s pockets, duffle bag securely strapped across his chest and a plan settled on his mind: to stay the farthest he could from Miya Atsumu at all costs, no matter how much his fangs ached to taste him again or how his hands longed for the feeling of his skin.

“I look forward to seeing you again tomorrow, Omi-kun!” Atsumu said while waving him goodbye.

Completing his task would be definitely harder than Kiyoomi had originally thought.

Kiyoomi kept his distance, shutting Atsumu off with a glance or blunt replies to his constant advances. He didn’t let his walls down, and never showed any interest in knowing Atsumu better either. It wasn’t easy to reject him, Kiyoomi felt a sting deep inside his chest whenever he was obligated to act coldly towards Atsumu, to hiss at him for absolutely no reason at all, to twist his features in disgust every time Atsumu opened his mouth to speak.

He did what he had to do to save them both from a tragedy that was destined to happen.

But Atsumu didn’t take his rudeness lightly, no. He whined loudly and talked back just as harshly, always wanting to be the one who had the last word. He deliberately pushed Kiyoomi’s buttons, eager to see his twitching eyebrows moments before his monosyllabic replies.

The team got used to their bickering, seeing it was useless to meddle - they did it once, only to fail miserably in the end. They sighed and watched the scene unfold whenever Kiyoomi complained about Atsumu’s sets or when Atsumu picked on Kiyoomi’s habits. The moment their fights escalated to something bigger, faces so close and angry they feared one of them would throw a punch anytime, their teammates pulled them to opposite corners with a warning, empty threats that meant nothing to those involved.

They tried to look the other way and pretend everything was fine, but when their daily performance became a reflection of their troublesome relationship, measures needed to be taken.

And that’s how they found themselves in an _izakaya_ on a late Tuesday night.

“I’ve had enough of you two,” Meian spoke when he took his seat. “So sit down, grab a drink and talk it over.”

“I don’t drink.” Kiyoomi muttered, arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Well, I don’t care. I’m not asking you two to be friends, just to be a little more civil towards each other.” Meian ran a hand across his face and sighed deeply. “Drinks are on me tonight.”

The team was pretty happy after their captain’s announcement, toasting loudly and drinking to their heart’s content without caring about the following day. Atsumu sipped from his glass of beer and laughed at Hinata's stories about the years he spent in Brazil. He shared a few of his own, telling his and Osamu’s childhood adventures, like the time they stole their aunt’s car to go to a hanabi festival. Bokuto’s giggles were the most contagious sounds, eliciting one or two responses from Kiyoomi, too.

“How about you, Sakusa-san?” Hinata turned to him with flushed cheeks and a bright smile. “Tell us a cool story!”

All Kiyoomi had were thousands of memories from the past centuries, enough to create an entire exhibition dedicated exclusively to them, or at least ten different movies from the things he had witnessed. He would never be able to share those with anyone else except Motoya, however, becoming a prisoner of his own treacherous mind.

He told them about his cousin and their previous experiences with other sports before settling for volleyball.

Atsumu’s chuckle was the weakest of them all. He hummed quietly and collected the condensation on his glass with his fingertips.

“Omi-Omi, where did you go to high school? Are you from Tokyo?” Atsumu asked.

Kiyoomi waited for Atsumu’s petty remarks but they never left his pretty mouth. His curiosity seemed sincere.

Thankfully he came up with a script to answer those questions. “Motoya and I went to an international school in Tokyo, yes.”

“The rich kids!” Inunaki yelled from the other side of the table. “Now I know who will be getting us drinks next time.”

“In my next life, I wish to be reborn in a very wealthy family!” Hinata said, and Bokuto agreed with him, nodding repeatedly.

“Who knows? Maybe you were a very rich baron in your past life.” Meian mentioned before swinging his glass of beer until there was nothing left.

Bokuto’s attention piqued after his captain’s words.

“Oh, I’ve always imagined myself as a samurai or someone who took care of animals. Is it possible to be both? How about you, Tsum-Tsum? Have you ever thought about who you were in your past lives?”

“An actor? A sailor? A model? I’m not sure.” Atsumu whispered, face twisted in a puzzled expression. “Listen, speaking of, I need to ask you something before I go completely insane.” He straightened up in his chair and seriously looked at his teammates. “Lately I’ve been having a lot of weird vivid dreams where I see different versions of myself in a lot of places I’ve never been. And there’s always a person with me, I’m not sure if it’s a man or a woman because I can’t see their face, but when I get too close the person disappears and always leaves a trail of blood behind. I dream about fangs and bloodshot eyes, they follow me everywhere I go.”

At first Kiyoomi couldn’t believe in the words he had just heard. He thought Atsumu was joking about those delusions but the desperate look in his face told a whole different story. Kiyoomi could see the suffering behind his amber eyes now crying for help, anything that would set them free from that sensation.

He wondered if he showed a similar expression when he looked at Atsumu.

Atsumu’s voice was considerably hurt as he kept going, hands clutching at his shirt right above his heart as if they wanted to comfort it somehow. “But the worst part of it is this pain. I wake up crying with a crazy feeling of emptiness inside my chest, as if I had lost someone important to me.”

“Have you been watching Twilight again, Atsumu-san?” Hinata asked, trying to muffle his chuckle.

“What? Of course not! I did that one time and it was only because I got curious.” Atsumu tried to defend himself. “I’m serious, I’ve searched on the internet and found out this could be a real thing. Maybe I could be dreaming about my past lives, but nothing explains this fucking pain.”

Kiyoomi’s hands were trembling on top of the table, so he moved them to his lap instead so no one would notice.

“This person who’s with you, It’s always the same one?” Meain wondered out loud.

“I think? It’s hard to tell but I’m almost sure it is.”

“Maybe this person is your soulmate, if you believe in that kind of thing. You could’ve met this person and had to watch them go, now your soul it’s aching for them again.” The team expressed their surprise and agreement to Meain’s wise words. “But the blood and the fangs? I think that’s just you watching too much television, Atsumu.”

Atsumu rolled his eyes and landed them on Kiyoomi, who was picking up his jacket with trembling hands.

“Omi-kun? Are you alright? Want me to call you a cab?”

Kiyoomi couldn’t formulate an answer. He closed his mouth before he ended up saying something he shouldn't and ran from that place as fast as he could, picking up his phone to dial Motoya’s number the moment he stepped into his apartment.

“Kiyo? Is everything alright?”

“Motoya,” He said desperately. “I think Atsumu is getting a few memories back.”

Kiyoomi heard a ruffle of sheets on the other side of the line.

“Okay, tell me everything that happened.”

He told Motoya the exact same things Atsumu had mentioned previously that night, the dreams, the person, the signs, the pain. It was too much of a coincidence to not be true. Was there even an explanation to why and how Atsumu was having those dreams about his - or should he say their, past lives? And why only the moments they had shared together were being remembered? What did Kiyoomi’s nature have to do with all of this? Could it be that Kiyoomi’s presence was responsible for triggering them?

Many questions were still left unanswered during and after Kiyoomi’s conversation with Motoya. But at least his hands weren’t shaking as much as before, and the storm inside his mind was partially gone.

Kiyoomi breathed in deeply and summarized all his frustrations into a single word

“Fuck.”

The next week they were headed to Tokyo for a match against the Adlers.

Kiyoomi and Atsumu’s relationship was still bumpy, but now they could stand to be in the same room for more than an hour without starting a fight. He noticed a few changes in Atsumu’s behavior, the way he softly looked at Kiyoomi and gave him space when he needed some, or how he not only respected but also engaged in Kiyoomi’s cleaning habits, always carrying with him an extra sanitizer bottle and a mask. Kiyoomi appreciated the effort, sending Atsumu a smile or two, but that didn’t make him any less suspicious, especially since he was the only person on the team being treated differently.

Atsumu didn’t mention the dreams again, and on behalf of Kiyoomi’s sanity, maybe that was for the best.

The Jackals came out victorious, a tiring and tight 3-2 sets match that ended with Bokuto’s powerful spike from the back of the court. Kiyoomi’s biggest battle, however, started afterwards, running away from every single camera that was pointed at him. And there was one person in particular who seemed very adamant on taking his picture.

“A little smile for the camera, Omi-Omi!” Atsumu grinned, opening his phone’s camera and framing him and half of Kiyoomi’s face.

Kiyoomi ducked immediately, before it could register his face - or the lack of it, and stepped aside. He frowned at Atsumu, mouthing a ‘ _what the fuck_ ’ and taking the phone from his hands.

“I told you I don’t like having my picture taken, can’t you at least respect that?” Kiyoomi took advantage of his height and raised his arm the highest he could, using the other to keep Atsumu away.

“Omi, give me back my phone!” Atsumu stood on his tip-toes to reach for it but Kiyoomi was soon out of his range. “You’re being mean.”

“If you can be rude and take a picture of me without my approval, that means I can be mean.” Kiyoomi’s lips were tugged upwards in a half-assed grin, which grew larger at the sight of Atsumu’s pout.

“Yeah, sure. I won’t take your picture, you hermit. Want a pinky promise, too?” Atsumu crossed his arms and huffed.

Kiyoomi cursed at himself for thinking Atsumu looked endearingly cute like this.

“No need, wouldn’t want your filthy hands all over mine.” He gave Atsumu his phone back, laughing at his exaggerated whine.

“If you must know, I just washed them when I left the bathroom.” Atsumu checked his phone’s integrity and put it in his short’s back pocket.

“Are you sure, Miya? I don’t think I heard any sounds of running water.”

Bokuto, who happened to listen to half of their conversation, stopped to look at Atsumu.

“Tsum-Tsum, I thought we’ve talked about this before. You need to wash your hands after peeing.” He seemed genuinely concerned, but by the way his mouth twitched, he was trying his best not to smile.

Atsumu groaned and the other two didn’t hold back their laughs this time.

“Fuck you two, I’m getting out of here.”

On their last day in Tokyo, the Adlers’ team captain, Hirugami, invited them all for a round of drinks, and they agreed to it instantly, as expected. Their rivalry was reserved for the court only, outside of that competitive environment they got along like any other friends would.

Kiyoomi was feeling quite thirsty that night, maybe he had miscalculated his schedule or the amount of energy he had spent on yesterday’s match triggered in his body a need to feed. He avoided standing too close to people as the sound of their throbbing pulses was enough to make him salivate. There was an empty stool with not many humans around near the izakaya’s bar, which he gladly took.

Ushijima politely asked if the seat next to his was taken before joining him, and Kiyoomi smiled at him.

There was a vague resemblance between this Ushijima and the one Kiyoomi had met centuries ago; their strict posture, the blunt and resolute behavior, and obviously the olive-colored eyes. He was an intriguing person, someone who matched Kiyoomi’s temper and was capable of holding a discussion interesting enough to distract Kiyoomi from his wild thoughts.

But he wasn’t able to stop Kiyoomi’s nose from picking up that alluring scent traveling through the air.

“Oh shit, Atsumu-san are you alright?”

Kiyoomi heard a commotion a few tables away that started after a glass shattering on the floor followed by Atsumu’s piercing shriek. He turned and saw Hinata and Hoshiumi cornering Atsumu and offering him napkins to clean the blood coming from a cut on his cheek.

“I’m fine, guys! I’m actually more worried about my clothes, they’re soaked.”

A sharp inhale left Kiyoomi’s parted lips and his tongue felt heavy inside his mouth, begging him to have a taste and satiate his hunger. Closing his eyes made the smell impossibly stronger, and Kiyoomi knew that he was on the verge of snapping at any second now. He picked up his wallet and muttered a weak apology to Ushijima before standing up in wobbly legs.

He made the mistake of looking at Atsumu one more time only to find him staring back at him. Kiyoomi swallowed hard and saw Atsumu’s mouth moving to say something, but he was quicker, leaving the place before Atsumu’s voice was out, afraid of his body’s reaction to that sound during such a delicate moment.

The next day they sat next to each other on the bus.

They didn’t talk about that incident or the way Atsumu rested his head on Kiyoomi’s shoulder while he slept through the entire way back to Osaka.

The sky was colored in bright orange and pink the moment they’d arrived, the sun already setting far into the west to Kiyoomi’s relief. The team was still tired and sore from their last match and their hangover, so most of them headed straight to their beds hoping some sleep would make them feel better.

Kiyoomi, on the other hand, felt quite restless. His thirst persisted from the previous night and only grew larger as he caught the scent of Atsumu’s cologne and felt the steady rhythm of his beating heart next to him.

There was a tremulousness in his hands the moment they circled the door knob of his apartment, an anxiety that could be easily compared to a caffeine rush. Kiyoomi felt the remnants of his sanity slipping away from his fingers after each step he took further into the streets. Thoughts of Atsumu filled his mind, his many different versions flashing before his eyes, overlapping and shifting until they turned into the one he currently knew.

Atsumu was all Kiyoomi wanted to forget but he was also all he could see.

When had Atsumu lodged into his mind like it was home? When had he become the reason Kiyoomi kept living, forever in search of another version of him? When had he removed the hateful parts of Kiyoomi’s curse, leaving him with a blessing instead?

Kiyoomi stopped in a nearby alley and threw a punch into the wall, particles of dust falling from where his hand met the concrete.

“Shit,” he muttered out loud, pushing his hair back and recomposing quickly at the sound of footsteps next to him.

“Sir, are you okay?” A man touched his shoulder lightly. “You seem a little shaken.”

Kiyoomi frowned his eyes at the man’s blond hair, seeing Atsumu’s face in front of him like a nightmare he couldn’t wake up from. He blinked twice to shake that image from his head and stared at the older man who seemed just as confused by his strange behaviour. His eyes traveled through the man’s face, stopping by a pulsating spot right under his jaw.

That was all it took for Kiyoomi to place a hand on the man’s neck and pull him close enough to sink his fangs into the man’s flesh.

His blood wasn’t the most tasteful but Kiyoomi wasn’t in position to complain considering his current situation. Kiyoomi closed his eyes to the sensation but soon he heard noises approaching them. He pushed the man against the wall to make it seem as if Kiyoomi was giving him a hickey, hoping the person wouldn’t look in their direction.

The footsteps stopped, and as they were headed into the opposite direction, curiosity got the best of Kiyoomi. He slowly opened his eyes to look, only getting a glimpse of blond hair and a black jacket.

It didn’t mean a thing, but a sudden wave of uneasiness crashed into Kiyoomi. He retracted his fangs instantly and the man’s body fell limp in front of him. His fingertips checked the man’s pulse, confirming he was just unconscious. From his back pocket he retrieved a handkerchief to clean the spots of blood on the corners of his mouth and the man’s neck. He kicked a few empty beer bottles and left them near the body to make a scene before heading back home.

Kiyoomi couldn’t stop thinking about the person who saw him. There was no mistake, their footsteps stopped the moment they had reached the alley and then turned around from where they came from at first. Their footsteps weren’t rushed, so maybe they didn’t realize what was truly happening and just left.

Once again, Atsumu’s image made its way back into Kiyoomi’s mind. It couldn’t be, could it? The more Kiyoomi thought about it, the more he believed in the hypothesis his brain had come up with. It all made sense; the dreams, the questions, the pictures, the wound.

Atsumu had found out about him - or should he say them?

Maybe that’s why Kiyoomi didn’t seem surprised to see Atsumu waiting for him by his front door wearing the same black jacket he had seen a few minutes ago.

“So it was really you,” Kiyoomi said codly, eyes fixed on Atsumu’s shoes. He opened the door to his apartment and gave Atsumu space. “Get in.”

Kiyoomi sighed in hope to calm his jittery nerves and placed his wallet on the kitchen counter. “Miya, I can explain.”

He was about to open his mouth when a sob from the other side of the room forced him to look up. There were tears streaming freely down Atsumu’s face, though he kept himself closed, arms wrapped tightly around his torso.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was as hurt as his eyes when they found Kiyoomi’s. “Were you really going to pretend none of this ever happened?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Atsumu snorted cynically and broke his posture to grip into his hair with both hands. “Of course you do! Don’t play dumb with me right now, Kiyoomi.” He walked in an unsteady pace, a to and fro motion. “I saw your face in my dreams three days after I told you and the team about it. I saw your fucking face and I couldn’t believe it was you because the idea of you being a vampire was simply ridiculous.”

Atsumu took a deep breath and stopped, eyes back on Kiyoomi’s. “But the signs were all there, weren’t they? It made so much sense. You recognized me from our past lives together, so you acted like a jerk to me. You don’t let others inside the locker room and don’t like to have your picture taken because you don’t have a reflection. The sight of blood makes you hungry, that’s why you run away from it.”

“You forgot the last evidence,” Kiyoomi said, tired of avoiding the truth when it had been shoved into his face. Atsumu already knew, so there was no use pretending now.

“Do I even have to mention that? You were sucking that guy’s blood, Omi!”

Atsumu shook his head in disbelief and fixed his gaze on the apartment’s walls.

“At first I didn’t understand why being near you made me feel so complete, why my chest didn’t sting when we talked, why I kept smiling even though all we did was fight over the same stupid things. I thought it was just a crush, but after seeing your face I realized it was deeper than that.” He walked towards Kiyoomi as he spoke, locking their gazes when he stood close enough to touch.

“I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you this whole time, since the first time I met you centuries ago.”

Kiyoomi felt Atsumu’s hesitant touch reaching for his wrist and tracing a path to his hand, intertwining their fingers together and holding tightly until their palms met.

“You’re letting those dreams dictate your feelings, Atsumu. You don’t really love me.”

Atsumu’s grip was stronger than before, holding onto Kiyoomi’s hand like his life depended on it. He was angry, Kiyoomi noticed that by the way his irises burned under the lights of his room, as brightly as a falling star. Kiyoomi wanted to close his eyes and make a wish but the intensity of Atsumu’s gaze prevented him from focusing on anything that was not him.

“Shut the fuck up. You don’t get to say how I’m feeling, Omi.” He raised Kiyoomi’s hand to press it hard against his chest, disentangling their fingers in the process. “Why else would my heart be beating like this?”

Kiyoomi felt the frantic rhythm of his pulse, though he could already listen to it from the small distance between them. “You just discovered your teammate is a vampire, of course you’d be afraid and a little nervous.”

A hot puff of air left Atsumu’s lips. “You’re kidding me, right? You need proof? Fine.” He tilted his neck to the right, exposing his throbbing veins and arteries. “Bite me, then. Turn me into a vampire.”

Atsumu’s words were unexpected, and hit Kiyoomi like a ton of bricks. He had spent all those years waiting for a chance to meet Atsumu again and make sure he would stay, to have the pleasure of calling Atsumu his and put an end to a chase that had been going on for far too long. Atsumu was there now, facing Kiyoomi with a distinct fire in his eyes, one that showed no doubts or fear of the creature standing in front of him. Kiyoomi only had to step forward and take a bite, then Atsumu would be forever bound to him like the perfect scenario of his dreams.

But if this was all he had ever wanted why did it feel so wrong?

“I…” Kiyoomi stumbled into his words, voice shaking just as much as his hand when it fell from Atsumu’s chest. “I can’t do this to you right now. There’s no way back after it’s done.”

Kiyoomi took a step back, and Atsumu answered by taking one forward.

“I know that, Omi.” Atsumu lowered his arms and let them rest at his sides as most of his resentment faded away with a sigh. “Just tell me why you’re so hesitant about this. I thought you liked me back, at least you seemed to from all I’ve seen in those dreams.”

“I do,” Kiyoomi said in a flash. “I do like you back, Atsumu.”

“Then what’s wrong?” Atsumu’s face was covered in sheer frustration again, but where once was anger, there was now sadness.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about those past lives, they never ended well. I’ve finally learned my lesson after so many years and now I’m…”

“You’re afraid the same thing will happen to this one.” Atsumu finished the sentence, and Kiyoomi nodded to confirm it.

Words from the past came back to haunt Kiyoomi’s fragile mind, the same ones spoken about one hundred years ago by the German version of Miya Atsumu. Funny how that thought backfired when Kiyoomi least expected it to, further aggravating the injuries yet to be healed.

“Eternity is a long time, isn’t it?”

The future was a huge mess of uncertainties, a tangle of knots being randomly unlaced by the hands of Fate. Plenty of things could happen over the years, Kiyoomi was well aware of that. Wars could arise from a seemingly frivolous accusation, the world’s economic system could completely fall apart due to a new disease, thousands of people could die from a sudden climate change. How could Kiyoomi know if Atsumu would still feel the same way in a hundred years? What ensured that he wouldn’t get tired of Kiyoomi’s mannerisms?

All Kiyoomi had were words, but they had betrayed him one too many times.

“I need to be sure, Atsumu.”

 _That you won’t let me down like you had done in the past_ , Kiyoomi thought.

“I’ll show you, then,” Atsumu said, extending a hand to Kiyoomi.

“How?” Kiyoomi, who had his eyes turned to his feet, lifted his head up to meet Atsumu’s hopeful gaze.

“Let me be your boyfriend. I promise to take you out on as many dates as I can, to give you all the blood you need, and to love you until there are no more doubts left in your head.”

Kiyoomi stared at Atsumu’s hand, and after what seemed like ages, he made up his mind. His movements were slow, almost a little timid as he grasped onto Atsumu’s fingers, feeling his thumb tenderly caressing his skin when they finally latched together.

“It sounds like a good idea.”

Atsumu smiled, not that pompous smirk Kiyoomi had known since Ancient Greece, but a true blinding one that wrinkled the corners of his eyes and revealed the most delicate dimples on each side of his face.

“You’ll see, Omi. I’ll be the best boyfriend you’ll ever have.”

Kiyoomi noticed how his relationship with Atsumu changed but also how some things still remained the same, like they had been converging into the same direction all along. He was already used to the softness of Atsumu’s gaze, but now they were more frequent and directly aimed at him. There was always a smile on his face whenever Kiyoomi was around, gentle around the corners, and lighter than his previous ones. Even during their trivial quarrels - which sporadically happened, Atsumu’s laughs sounded more natural, like those discussions didn’t mean a thing, like they could chase his troubles away instead of giving him more to worry about.

Atsumu was careful with his touches, temptive and a little tense at first, looking at Kiyoomi in search of a possible disapproval, and relaxing his shoulders when Kiyoomi intertwined their fingers. During most of their matches, Atsumu’s hand found its way to Kiyoomi’s in a loud high-five after Atsumu’s perfect toss and Kiyoomi’s nasty spike. They met instinctively on their way home after practice, too, when they thought there was nobody looking, arms brushing the entire way until a pinkie crossed the invisible barrier between them and hooked the other. The same happened during the monthly Black Jackals’ movie nights, where somehow Atsumu and Kiyoomi always ended up on a loveseat or beside each other on the couch, sharing a blanket that hid most of their lovingly gestures.

Kiyoomi couldn’t remember the last time he felt appreciative of someone else’s touch.

Their first official date was on a Saturday night, a celebration of their one-month anniversary. Kiyoomi joked about how long Atsumu took to truly ask him out, and Atsumu brushed him off, saying he had to make sure everything would go according to his plans because Kiyoomi deserved to be swept off his feet. Atsumu drove them to the Umeda Sky Building to watch Osaka’s cityscape from 170 meters above the ground. The view was incredibly pretty at the open-air deck of the floating garden observatory, city lights blinding them from below, almost as much as the starry night sky above, though Kiyoomi was far more fascinated by the way Atsumu’s eyes shined under the moonlight.

“The view’s great, isn’t it, Omi-Omi?” A cold breeze disheveled Atsumu’s hair, its locks now pointing in every possible direction. He shivered, nose and cheeks red from the cold like a Christmas reindeer.

Kiyoomi looked at him affectionately, raising a hand to tuck a wild strand of blond hair behind Atsumu’s ear, but changing his mind halfway, shoving both hands inside his coat’s pockets. He felt Atsumu’s eyes on him, waiting for a simple answer that was taking too long to come out.

“It’s beautiful, yes,” Kiyoomi mumbled. “Are we going back now?”

Atsumu hummed. “Actually, I was thinking about going to your place.” He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “If you’re feeling hungry you can, you know…” His Kansai-ben was heavier now, changing according to how strong his emotions were.

“I don’t, please elaborate.” Kiyoomi smirked, knowing he was acting like a jerk.

Atsumu waved his hands a little desperately, stopping in a claw-like pose with his teeth bared. He growled quietly, making Kiyoomi chuckle.

“You’re ridiculous.”

Atsumu whined but didn’t verbalize his complaints. “So, will you?”

“Should I? You don’t seem very comfortable with that idea.” Kiyoomi raised an eyebrow, attentive to the increasing pace of Atsumu’s pulse.

“I’m just a little nervous, that’s all, but you can totally go for it if you want to.”

Kiyoomi shook his head. “Not today.”

“Oh,” Atsumu almost sounded disappointed, fixing his gaze on the railing underneath his hands. “Well, you know who to call when you need some food, Omi-kun.”

Kiyoomi unwrapped the scarf around his neck and placed it around Atsumu’s. “Let’s head back, I won’t be getting anywhere near your blood if you get sick.” He saw the red on Atsumu’s cheeks getting brighter, and his smirk impossibly larger.

“I don’t think you’d be able to resist me, Omi-Omi.”

Kiyoomi snorted. “You’d be surprised.”

He felt Atsumu’s hand reaching for his and smiled in return, letting Atsumu guide him through the place until they were back to Kiyoomi’s car. Atsumu sang along to the lyrics of a pop song currently playing on the radio, head bobbing according to the beat while Kiyoomi drove them to their apartment building. Kiyoomi thought he had a nice voice - except when he tried to hit the highest notes; it was soothing, a sound he certainly wouldn’t mind listening again.

Something Kiyoomi could easily see himself getting used to.

Atsumu walked Kiyoomi to his door and pressed a lingering goodnight kiss to his cheek.

“Sweet dreams, Omi.” Atsumu whispered before leaving.

Kiyoomi touched his face, right where Atsumu had just pressed his lips against. His skin felt warm to the touch, tingling even, like it had been in the past, too. This time, however, Kiyoomi wasn’t frightened when the sensation of his kiss disappeared, because he knew Atsumu would still be right there next to him in the morning after.

The changes in Kiyoomi’s behavior started after two weeks.

He was crankier than usual, snapping at Atsumu for no reason at all, and distancing himself from the touches he had become so familiar with; no more high-fives or hand-in-hand walks on the way back to their apartment building. He stayed late after practice almost every day, using the excuse he needed to improve his spiking technique to win their next match against the Adlers. Kiyoomi was physically exhausted, worrying his teammates who constantly asked him if he was eating properly and drinking enough water. His stamina was decaying exponentially, so as the power of his spikes,

The day he missed Atsumu’s toss for the fifth time, Meian called him aside and told him to go home and get some rest. He wasn’t allowed to show up for practice until he was feeling better.

Kiyoomi nodded and made his way to the locker room, well-aware of that familiar presence behind him. He ignored him as much as he could, opening his locker and changing clothes like he was alone.

But he knew Atsumu’s patience would eventually run out.

“What the fuck is going on with you? If you’re going to play like a scrub, you shouldn’t be playing at all.” Atsumu spoke through his teeth, hands crashing on the small metallic door and forcing it shut.

“Nothing,” Kiyoomi spit back just as angry, trying to push Atsumu’s arms aside but he lacked the strength to do so.

“Bullshit! You’ve been acting strange all week, not answering my texts, staying after practice, and playing like you’re really sick.”

Kiyoomi flared his nostrils and pressed his lips together. “I told you, it’s nothing you have to worry about.” He let out a frustrated sigh after another failed attempt of moving Atsumu’s hand from his locker. “Can you get the fuck out so I can get my things and leave?”

“I don’t think so.” Atsumu took a step forward, tilting Kiyoomi’s chin and forcing their eyes to meet. “Not until you tell me what’s going on, Omi.” He insisted.

Kiyoomi could listen to the blood flowing through Atsumu’s fingers. He licked his lips at the sound of that sinful temptation. “I’m just tired.”

Atsumu furrowed his eyebrows and looked closely at every inch of Kiyoomi’s face. His hand traveled to Kiyoomi’s cheek, cupping it sweetly and listening to Kiyoomi’s sharp inhale.

It didn’t take long for Atsumu’s eyes to grow large, surprised by what he had found out.

“You’re hungry.” He blurted out. “How long has it been since you last fed, Omi?”

“A month and a half.” Kiyoomi mumbled, seeing it would be useless to hide the truth when Atsumu got him cornered.

“You haven’t fed since we started dating!? Are you trying to kill yourself?”

“It’s not that.” Kiyoomi struggled to speak, being careful about the words he would be using next. “You were uncomfortable by the idea at our date, so I’ve been waiting for you to say something.”

Atsumu huffed. “Why didn’t you go out to feed on someone else?”

Kiyoomi clicked his tongue. “It felt wrong, I just couldn’t do it.” He saw a light blush spreading through Atsumu’s cheeks.

Atsumu cleared his throat. “Get your stuff, I’m telling Meian I’ll be taking you home.”

“Atsumu, don’t…” Kiyoomi’s protests were weak.

“There’s no discussion, Omi-kun.” Atsumu zipped up his jacket and threw his bag over his shoulder. “I’ll be waiting outside the gym, okay?”

“Fine.”

They arrived at Kiyoomi’s apartment and Atsumu asked if he could take a quick shower, to which Kiyoomi agreed.

As soon as he listened to the running water, Kiyoomi picked up his phone and texted Motoya, interested in knowing if there were any risks on feeding after more than a month. Motoya said he wouldn’t be making any questions now, but if Kiyoomi didn’t call him the following day he would be taking the train to Osaka. He also said the chances of losing control were low, especially considering Kiyoomi’s age and experience, but there was always an associated risk.

Kiyoomi was relieved, since rendering Atsumu unconscious was the last thing he wanted. He knew how easily he could get lost within his thirst, especially when Atsumu was at the receiving end of his bite; his previous experiences taught him enough about that.

Yet there was no one else in the world he’d rather feed on.

Lost in thought, Kiyoomi barely noticed the footsteps coming from his bathroom.

“Omi? You okay?”

Kiyoomi swallowed hard at the sight of Atsumu wearing only a pair of red boxer briefs, a white towel wrapped around his neck. He unashamedly ran his eyes over Atsumu’s body, stopping on the v-lines leading to his groin, and the thickness of his strong thighs.

Atsumu seemed a little embarrassed by the intensity of Kiyoomi’s gaze, but stood proudly in front of him with a hand on his waist.

“I thought my clothes could get dirty.” He explained, nervously ruffling the back of his wet hair.

“I’m not a messy eater, don’t worry.” Kiyoomi mentioned, expecting to get at least a chuckle in return, but apparently it wasn’t enough to pass through Atsumu’s anxiety. “Atsumu, you really don’t have to do this.”

“I saw it in my dreams, okay?” Atsumu’s heart sped up a little. “The bites and the sex, too.” He confessed.

“Oh.” Kiyoomi’s eyes widened briefly.

“It’s not like I wouldn’t want that, because have you seen yourself? Wait, you actually haven’t, but you’re hot, Omi.”

Kiyoomi took a slow step forward.

“And you’re even more beautiful when we’re playing. You get this fierce look on your face and your body goes all taut. It’s really hard not to look at you.”

Atsumu was babbling non-stop at this point, well aware of how close Kiyoomi stood. A hot puff of air on his nose put an ending to his inconstant words. He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing, and pulse quickening as his anxiety reached the sky.

“Shut up, Atsumu.”

“Omi, that’s mean! I’m here opening my heart to you and you tell me to shut up just like that?” Atsumu whined.

“Yes, because I want to kiss you, and I can’t if you’re still talking.” Kiyoomi admitted in a low, sultry hiss.

Atsumu’s pupils dilated, black engulfing the bright color of his irises. His lips were parted, although no sounds left them this time, except for a short and almost inaudible gasp.

“I’m shutting up now.” Atsumu mumbled, hypnotized by the darkness in Kiyoomi’s eyes, ready to completely devour him at any second now. He startled when Kiyoomi’s hand met his neck, sinking further into his hair and tilting his head back with gentleness.

“Good.” Kiyoomi’s gaze roamed over Atsumu’s neck, watching the vibrations of his frenetic pulse before falling on his ever-so-inviting mouth.

Kiyoomi wasn’t sure who leaned in first but their collision was explosive. His kiss was fierce and wet, and Atsumu’s response was at the same level of enthusiasm, hands reaching for each side of his face and pulling him in like a siren’s melody luring sailors with her beauty and voice. Kiyoomi sneaked his arm around Atsumu’s waist, bringing their bodies closer and consuming the muffled moans coming from Atsumu’s mouth as if they were enough to satisfy his everlasting hunger. Kiyoomi’s hands became bolder, tracing an anguishing downward path to his lower back, fingers playing with the waistband of his briefs.

“Omi…” Atsumu canted his hips into Kiyoomi’s and broke their kiss in a loud gasp. His head was tilted back, exposing his neck to Kiyoomi’s thirsty gaze.

Kiyoomi resisted the devilish temptation to sink in his fangs and nipped at Atsumu’s jaw instead, making his way down to his neck. He felt the vibrations of Atsumu’s blood flowing through his veins as he pressed his lips against his skin slowly, consequently tightening his grip on Atsumu’s waist, who answered with a moan.

Atsumu’s body trembled, and suddenly Kiyoomi noticed how tense his muscles were, like an apprehensive wave had just washed over him.

Kiyoomi caressed Atsumu’s sides, loosening his hold and coaxing him into a more relaxed state of mind. He smiled when Atsumu’s body fell willingly into his arms, as if he was no longer afraid of what was yet to come.

“I’m sorry,” Kiyoomi mumbled. “I got carried away.”

He rested his forehead on Atsumu’s shoulder and let out a prolonged breath. “We should probably move this to the bedroom, so you can be more comfortable.”

“I don’t mind, you know?” Atsumu said sheepishly. “Whether we do it here or in the bedroom. I just want to be good to you.”

Kiyoomi inhaled sharply at how close from snapping Atsumu’s words made him.

“It’ll be better for both of us if you’re relaxed. Make yourself comfortable, I’ll be right there.”

Atsumu nodded and adjusted himself inside his briefs before turning his back on Kiyoomi, who may have stolen a glance or two at Atsumu’s ass and thighs.

Maybe one day he would like to find out how it would feel to feed from them.

But first he needed to calm down his jittery nerves and grab a glass of water, or else he wouldn’t survive another minute next to Atsumu’s alluring presence.

When he got to the bedroom, Atsumu was in his bed, white sheets covering half of his legs. He was laughing at something on his phone - a message perhaps, as he was casually typing right after it. As soon as he noticed Kiyoomi’s proximity, his eyes shot up and the phone was placed on the bedside table without breaking their established gaze. Kiyoomi caught a glimpse of his tongue pressing against his bottom lip in anticipation. There wasn’t a single hint of fear in his eyes, only sheer curiosity and a fiery desire.

Kiyoomi walked closer to the bed, mattress folding around his knee as he pressed it on the soft surface and leaned closer to Atsumu’s face. His heartbeats increased their pace as Kiyoomi gently cupped his cheek and touched his skin with the pad of his thumb.

“You’re still okay with it?” He asked, genuinely concerned.

“Of course I am, Omi-kun. I told you before, didn’t I? I’ll gladly give you all the blood you need.”

“But you don’t have to.” Kiyoomi frowned, and Atsumu pressed his fingers on Kiyoomi’s forehead, trying to soothe the wrinkles that had just appeared.

“I want to,” Atsumu spoke with conviction.

Kiyoomi’s movements were slow as he fully climbed on Atsumu’s lap, knees now falling on each side of his thighs. He felt Atsumu’s hands on his waist, sneaking in under his oversized sweatshirt and rubbing soothing circles on his skin like he was the one about to be bitten.

If Kiyoomi said he wasn’t nervous, he would be lying. Every bit of his insecurities came crashing down at the same time; the risks of making Atsumu unconscious, the intimacy implied by his bite and its lustful side effects, Atsumu’s words ringing inside his head. A bite could mean nothing to strangers who had no connection but it was much more than that to people who already shared any kind of bond, either physical or emotional.

“Hey, I trust you,” Atsumu said through a silly comforting smile, as if he knew about the raging storm inside Kiyoomi’s head. “I’m not afraid of you, and when I say that I love you, even though you still don’t believe it, that includes all parts of you.”

The warmth of Atsumu’s hands was reassuring when they traveled across Kiyoomi’s torso and ended up cupping his jaw. “I know you won’t hurt me because you love me just as much.” He tilted his head aside and pulled Kiyoomi’s face closer to his neck. “Go ahead, let me feel you, Omi.”

Kiyoomi held onto Atsumu’s shoulder with one hand and kept his head in place with the other. Atsumu’s body quivered from his next whispered words, spoken so softly they were almost inaudible amidst Atsumu’s thunderous beating heart.

“I love you, too.”

Atsumu’s blood tasted like Heaven in Kiyoomi’s mouth, a richness of flavors not even a chef would be able to describe with accuracy. It was intoxicantly sweet at first, as saccharine as the fond looks Atsumu usually sent him after he scored a point thanks to his toss. The kind of liquor that made you instantly addicted to, like a shot of heroin straight into your vein. It had a certain bitterness too, that lingering taste on your tongue you couldn’t get rid of, like an espresso with no sugar.

Kiyoomi fed like he hadn’t seen blood in months, starving and begging for more. He felt Atsumu’s tight grip on his waist, and his erection through their clothes. The sounds that left Atsumu’s mouth were sinful, a constant buzz to Kiyoomi’s ears that tried to block all kinds of noises. His thin thread of control was still produly there, keeping him from making any stupid decisions based on his animalistic nature or his lust-filled mind.

However, that didn’t stop Kiyoomi from taking all Atsumu had to offer him; his blood, his body, and his love.

When Kiyoomi removed his fangs from Atsumu’s neck, he lost all rationality to the sight in front of him.

Atsumu’s breathing was labored, the ups and downs of his chest clear and pressing against Kiyoomi’s. His half-lidded eyes were glossy and his mouth agape, devotedly looking at Kiyoomi like he was a deity and not a freak who had just fed on his blood.

“Fuck,” Atsumu whispered. “I wanna do this again.” He attentively watched Kiyoomi’s tongue catching the remaining droplets of blood on the corners of his lips.

“You should rest now,” Kiyoomi tangled his fingers in Atsumu’s hair, seeing him close his eyes to the gesture. “But I’m glad to know you’ve enjoyed it.”

“Is it always like this?”

Kiyoomi stopped to admire the spark in Atsumu’s eyes, which although tired still maintained that particular glow.

“No, only with you.” He answered with a smile before climbing out of Atsumu’s lap and lying on the bed, bodies now safe and warm under the sheets.

Atsumu was sound asleep in a minute, exhaustion easily getting the best of him. Kiyoomi, on the other hand, was still awake, revigorized by the fresh blood now running through his veins. He brushed a wild lock of hair from Atsumu’s somewhat sweaty forehead, face so close to Atsumu’s their nose’s tips would sometimes touch.

“Thank you, Atsumu,” He muttered against Atsumu’s lips, giving him a chaste kiss before he finally closed his eyes in an attempt to rest.

Atsumu’s visits became more frequent after that day. He came up with a list of excuses for each time he fell asleep on Kiyoomi’s couch or his bed; fatigue, a romantic dinner, watching movies together, or simply a late night conversation. Until the moment they weren’t needed anymore; Atsumu was there because it felt right to indulge in Kiyoomi’s skin care routine, to discuss about whose turn was to get a glass of water in the middle of the night, to fall asleep on Kiyoomi’s shoulder while they were watching television wearing silly matching pajamas, to cuddle with Kiyoomi when it was cold.

The changes were subtle but increased considerably over the months.

There was a different set of clothes in Kiyoomi’s wardrobe now, which belonged to Atsumu. He had a drawer for his underwear and socks, a place for his beauty products in Kiyoomi’s bathroom cabinet along with a brand new pink toothbrush next to Kiyoomi’s gray one. A fox-shaped mug and Onigiri Miya’s merchandise were scattered across Kiyoomi’s kitchen, and a bowl filled with candy was now settled at the living room.

It took Atsumu almost a year to move in once for all.

And Kiyoomi, who had never been the most adept at dealing with different scenarios, found himself falling into Atsumu’s rhythm, synchronizing with his personal chaos despite Kiyoomi’s many complaints, and resting peacefully while listening to their brand new sound. Although sometimes annoying, Atsumu’s presence was comforting, someone who Kiyoomi could trust with his deepest secrets or share the wittiest jokes.

Kiyoomi saw himself getting used to Atsumu; to his whines and to his smiles.

But mainly to his love.

The winter season in Osaka was almost ending, welcoming milder temperatures when compared to January. Thermometers reached no more than fifteen degrees during the day, and the sky was partially cloudy with occasional bright sun rays breaking through the atmosphere. Though snow was rare, it still rained a lot, mostly around noon, but sometimes a few thunders could be heard from Kiyoomi’s bedroom during the night, too.

It was a particularly cold and rainy night, wind howling loudly as it seeped through the small cracks on the sealed-shut windows. Kiyoomi snuggled close to Atsumu’s chest, seeking for a specific kind of warmth his covers couldn’t provide. His ears were attentive to the heavy drizzle crashing onto the glass, a constant tap that forced him to stay awake.

However, there was another thing that caught Kiyoomi’s attention.

Atsumu writhed in their bed, face twisting in agony as faint whimpers left his slightly parted lips. His high-pitched mumbles were almost indecipherable at first, but as they increased in volume, Kiyoomi managed to understand a few of them.

“No, please don’t…” Atsumu begged, sweat pooling on his sideburns.

Kiyoomi lifted his head from Atsumu’s chest and watched him fight against his nightmare, not knowing what exactly he should do to help. He knew waking him up may not be the best option, though seeing Atsumu suffering was far from being a pleasant experience.

“Omi, don’t leave me.”

Kiyoomi’s body reacted on its own at the mention of his nickname, leaning towards Atsumu almost instantly. He refrained from touching him, arm thrown across the pillow above his head.

His mouth was close to Atsumu’s ear, hoping his steady voice would be enough to reach him.

“Atsumu, I’m here.” Atsumu was confused as he unconsciously searched for Kiyoomi with his eyes closed. “I’m not leaving you, Atsumu.”

There were tears in Atsumu’s eyes, trailing a path down his reddened cheeks. His next words were out in a sob.

”I don’t want to see you go, not again.”

Kiyoomi’s fingertips brushed on parts of Atsumu’s hair scattered over the pillow, aching to touch more and embrace him entirely. “Atsumu, I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.”

Atsumu kept desperately screaming Kiyoomi’s name, pleading him to stay, to take Atsumu with him, to not leave him alone like he did many times before. His agony peaked as his breath became shorter, and in a heartbreaking cry, his eyes snapped open.

Frightened, he looked around, and when he found Kiyoomi right next to him, his expression shifted to pure relief instead. Atsumu teared up once again, throwing his arms over Kiyoomi’s body and pressing his face onto his chest.

Kiyoomi didn’t ask for an explanation, allowing Atsumu’s tears to dampen his long sleeved shirt while he softly stroked Atsumu’s hair.

“You promise?” Atsumu whispered, voice hoarse from all the recent crying. “You promise you won’t leave me, Omi?”

Kiyoomi felt an ache in his chest, a strange feeling creeping through his body, a need to protect Atsumu at all costs and be the one who would free him from those nightmares. He wrapped his arms around Atsumu’s shoulders and pulled him closer, wishing to show the truth behind his words.

“Yes, I do. I’ll always be with you, Atsumu.” Kiyoomi muttered against Atsumu’s hair.

Fingers gripped tightly onto Kiyoomi’s shirt. Atsumu lifted his head slowly, swollen eyelids and a broken smile making its way through his sadness. He looked at Kiyoomi like he was an angel sent to save him from his troubles. All Kiyoomi could see in his red-rimmed eyes was love, a deep and burning affection.

“I’m glad you’ve found me, Omi.”

Kiyoomi smiled before kissing Atsumu’s forehead gently.

“Me too, Atsumu. Me too.”

The Black Jackals lost the current season to the Adlers, but won two consecutive championships the following years to compensate for the last slip.

Players left the team as time slipped by. Meian and Barnes retired together at 33, Hinata chose to pursue a career in Brazil, and Thomas took a flight back to America, to his hometown, and decided to stay. The gym was filled with new faces and youthful conversations coordinated by Bokuto, who was now back at being captain, proudly wearing the bright yellow armband that barely fit around his enormous biceps. Inunaki made sure to train them well, seeing he was aiming for his own retirement soon and wouldn’t rest without another trophy to fill the empty space in his shelf of awards.

Opportunities kept appearing for Atsumu and Kiyoomi, from teams whose names they could barely pronounce, but they had no reason or desire to accept it, not if that meant being apart. They chose to settle there, in Osaka, sharing the same apartment and routine like they’d been doing years ago.

Their moments together weren’t resumed to the time they spent on court playing or the one wasted chilling on their couch. They were almost attached at the hip, always around each other, either during matches or festivals, dates or road trips. Atsumu took a reluctant Kiyoomi to Hyougo to show him his favorite spots and meet his brother, who wished Kiyoomi good luck with taking care of his stupid twin. He wanted to introduce Kiyoomi to his entire family, but the vampire said it probably wasn’t a very good idea. Kiyoomi, on the other hand, visited Motoya and his soon-to-be turned wife in Tokyo during the holidays. He was happy to hear they were expecting a baby, as having a big family was something Motoya had always wished for. What he wasn’t very excited about, however, was this instant friendship between Atsumu and his cousin, who spoke to each other like they’d been friends for more than just an hour, both sharing their own stories and laughing about the ones related to Kiyoomi.

Slowly, Atsumu peeled off Kiyoomi’s layers and removed the scabs of his healing wounds, one by one, kissing the injuries tenderly until they no longer hurt. The scars were still there, reminding Kiyoomi of the experiences he had so far. But now Kiyoomi looked at them fondly, as if they had led him to the life he currently lived, to the happiness and warmth now filling every corner of his heart.

Atsumu took that vacant space in Kiyoomi’s life and self declared it his, embracing it with his roots and showing he had no intentions of ever setting Kiyoomi free of his restraints.

And Kiyoomi let him, watching Atsumu claim every piece of him and smiling in return when he noticed he could no longer feel any pain.

Maybe not only his heart but also his life had always belonged to Atsumu after all.

Soon there was no longer just Kiyoomi or Atsumu separately, only them together, as if one could not exist without the other. They orbited around each other like a satellite in space, always finding their path back at the end of their days.

Those same thoughts woke Kiyoomi up from his sleep. The sunlight crossed the atmosphere and dispersed when it reached the beige curtains of Kiyoomi’s bedroom, bathing his room in faint yellowish colors. He blinked twice, focusing his gaze on the man who slept next to him and his beautiful features. Atsumu’s face had lost part of its boyish youth, but he still looked as gorgeous as ever, even after six years, with deeper wrinkles next to his nose and forehead. His hair was a little longer, partially covering his eyes; Kiyoomi should probably cut it for him someday in the next week.

Kiyoomi’s fingers moved on their own, gently tracing a line starting on Atsumu’s sharp jaw and going over his neck, where two parallel marks symbolized last night’s events. They fell onto Atsumu’s strong arms next - still firm even after retirement, circled his delicate wrist and pressed against the hand Kiyoomi was so fond of. He made a different path then, one including Atsumu’s chest, abdomen, and waist, stopping by the sheets pooled right above Atsumu’s groin.

The light illuminating Atsumu outlined the curves of his body perfectly, a sketch of an art piece reserved exclusively for Kiyoomi‘s eyes only. It gave him an almost ethereal glow. He looked like a celestial being in disguise, one who had descended from Heaven and now chose to bless Kiyoomi’s days with his presence and overwhelming beauty.

A breathtaking view that kept Kiyoomi enraptured every time he opened his eyes and Atsumu was still asleep beside him.

A dazzling sight that filled Kiyoomi’s heart with warmth and made him think about how much he loved all parts of Atsumu.

A scene Kiyoomi had grown used to seeing for the past six years.

And he would like nothing more than to see it again for a thousand years and more, for the rest of his eternal life if he could.

Kiyoomi felt his vision blurring in red, a single tear slowly tracing a path across his cheek and staining their white pristine sheets. He gasped and pressed his lips together, hoping the sounds wouldn’t be enough to wake Atsumu. In his head, a misty cloud of doubts suddenly disappeared, leaving nothing but clear thoughts behind.

All this time Atsumu had been fulfilling his promise; taking Kiyoomi out on as many dates as he could, offering Kiyoomi his blood whenever he was thirsty, and showing Kiyoomi what it meant to be truly loved. For each step he took into Kiyoomi’s direction, another pair of bright blue forget-me-nots blossomed in Kiyoomi’s secret garden, taking away small parts of his fears and insecurities and turning them into new sweet memories instead.

Every time Kyoomi thought he would leave, Atsumu proved him wrong. He played the boyfriend part like no one ever could, fighting with a sword in hand and facing the tides no matter how rough they were. Willingly, Atsumu chose to stay by Kiyoomi’s side, a perfect painting of a soldier who defeated the monsters inside Kiyoomi’s head.

If Kiyoomi’s happiness was the prize at stake, Atsumu would do it all over again, until his heart stopped beating and the flames in his eyes were completely extinguished.

But why be a hostage of time if Kiyoomi could set him free of that burden? Why let go of the hand that had been latched onto his during the past six years?

Kiyoomi wasn’t sure what kind of strange bond his soul shared with Atsumu’s, but he was certain about not wanting to lose him again.

Lost in thought, Kiyoomi barely noticed Atsumu was now awake, shaking his shoulders and asking him what had happened.

“Omi, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

“I…” Kiyoomi took a deep breath, grasping onto Atsumu’s hands tenderly holding both sides of his face. “I love you, Atsu.”

“Yeah?” Atsumu smiled softly. “I love you too, babe.” He invaded Kiyoomi’s space, bumping their noses together. “What brought this up? You’re usually not that overly emotional.”

“I need to ask you something.” Kiyoomi blurted out, losing himself amidst the different colors of Atsumu’s eyes. “It’s important.”

Atsumu’s furrowed brow showed just how confused he was. “Go ahead, you’re making me nervous.”

“Do you still think about that thing you asked me six years ago?”

“That thing?” Atsumu paused, and his eyes suddenly widened. “Oh, _that_ thing.” He sighed after seeing Kiyoomi’s nod. “It’s not like I’m constantly thinking about it, but I’m not getting any younger, Omi. It’s hard not to wonder what it would be like when you have the same pretty face of when I met you and I’m left with an increasing collection of wrinkles.”

Atsumu pouted. “Will you still love me when I’m old and maybe less handsome, Omi-Omi?”

Kiyoomi ignored Atsumu’s attempt at a joke and chewed onto his bottom hip. He averted his gaze, focusing on the touch of Atsumu’s fingers.

“What if I said I want you to stay like that forever?”

Atsumu’s movements stopped abruptly. He tilted Kiyoomi’s face, searching for his eyes with no more traces of fun in his own.

“Omi, are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Kiyoomi blinked another tear away, waiting for Atsumu’s thumb to wipe it away like it always did. This time was no different.

“I don’t regret what I did in the past, because all those versions of you taught me something important; to be patient, hopeful, honest, bold, and to love. Although they brought me pain, they also showed how in love with you I was. I thought this wouldn’t last, thought that you would eventually leave, but I was again proved wrong. And this morning I realized I’ve never been happier in my entire existence.”

Kiyoomi leaned closer, letting go of Atsumu’s hands to cradle his face in between his own, pressing their foreheads together and brushing his lips onto Atsumu’s whenever he spoke.

“I don’t know what kind of spell the universe cast upon us, but I don’t want to wait another hundred years to find you again. Atsumu, please tell me I can stay with you forever, for another two or ten thousand years, for as long as you want me.”

The brightness of Atsumu’s eyes was something hard to forget, the way they glimmered under the daylight and became unattainable. They had never changed, remaining the same amber-colored pair through the centuries, always burning with that familiar indescribable passion.

Kiyoomi could say they looked the same right now but then he would be lying. Atsumu’s eyes had never been so intense and sure of the ideas that crossed through his mind. There, exposed in all its colors, was Atsumu’s soul, the ghostly essence that always found its way back home, back to Kiyoomi.

“I want you.” Atsumu whispered in a trembling voice. “Eternity is a long time, you were right to point that out six years ago. But I want nothing more than to spend it with you.”

Atsumu leaned into Kiyoomi’s touch with a smile, like that was enough to take all the weight off his shoulders and end the pain inside his chest. His hand was holding onto Kiyoomi’s face tightly, as if he had no intentions of ever letting it go.

This time Kiyoomi knew he wouldn’t.

Atsumu tilted his head to the side, exposing his neck and the marks that still lingered from last night. Not once did his smile threaten to fall from his mouth.

“Don’t you think we’ve waited long enough? Do it now. Make me yours forever, Kiyoomi.”

Kiyoomi’s lips trembled as his hands traced a path down to Atsumu’s neck, arms suddenly embracing him in a hug so tight it forced the air out of Atsumu’s lungs. He rested his head on Atsumu’s shoulder, pressing his lips against his pulse twice before whispering against his skin.

“I’m sorry for making you wait so long for this.”

“I’d have waited for you, no matter how many lifetimes I’d have to live, until I truly earned your love.”

Kiyoomi chuckled. “You’ve always earned it, Atsumu.”

“Yeah? Feel free to show me, then.”

Kiyoomi was stuck on an infinite loop of changes since the day he had been turned into a vampire. He traveled from city to city, creating stories that would soon come to an end, and never finding a place to call his own. Settling down wasn’t an option, not to someone as cursed as him.

However, the moment Kiyoomi sank his fangs into Atsumu’s neck for the last time, he realized his home had never been a place. Kiyoomi had found his home centuries ago, in a person whose soul had and will always be forever bound to his.

It took them thirty years to make a trip to Greece. Kiyoomi showed Atsumu the ruins of what once was Apollo’s temple and the place Atsumu kissed him on the lips for the first time. He lost count of how many kisses Atsumu showered him with later on top of that same hill.

Fifty years later they visited Kiyoomi’s castle in Northern Italy. Atsumu mocked Kiyoomi the entire time, using the words ‘lord’ and ‘love of his life’ in the same sentence. He only stopped when Kiyoomi cornered him against a wall and whispered how many times he thought about asking Atsumu to get on his knees for him.

They found themselves on a cruise to the French coast to celebrate sixty-five decades together. Kiyoomi cried when they boarded, unfortunate memories getting the best of him. There were neither storms nor plagues to ruin their trip, and Atsumu promised to give Kiyoomi new thoughts to be happy about. He managed to bring a big bright yellow umbrella with him to keep them safe under the shadows. But that turned to be quite useless since they spent most of the time inside their cabin in a comfortable embrace.

While they visited a museum in Florence, Atsumu sobbed on Kiyoomi’s chest when they found the very same painting Kiyoomi had done of someone who was not his lover at the time. The colors were duller now, and the frame almost completely ruined, but you could still recognize the man lying on that familiar black sofa.

At night in the streets of Germany, Kiyoomi called Atsumu’s attention and placed a golden band around his ring finger.

“All those places we’ve visited had memories I never thought I’d forget. And here was where it hit me that what I felt for you was something time would never be able to erase.” Kiyoomi kissed his fingers tenderly with a smile plastered on his face.

There was no one else around to witness Kiyoomi’s confession but to him nothing was more important than the man in front of him.

“Atsumu, I’ve loved you then, and I love you more than ever now. There’s nothing I’d rather do than to be with you until our souls grow old.”

Through his red colored tears, Atsumu still found a way to show his smugness.

“I told you almost a hundred years ago that I love you, Kiyoomi. I assure you my feelings only grew stronger, too.” He laughed at himself, realizing how stupid he sounded. “But why bother with a ring now?”

Kiyoomi pulled Atsumu close and kissed him deeply, an attempt to convey all his emotions at once. He felt that tingling inside his stomach when Atsumu drew out his fangs and lightly bit Kiyoomi’s bottom lip.

Even after millennia, Atsumu’s kiss still thrilled him like the first one they had shared on top of a hill in Ancient Greece, more than two hundred years ago.

And Kiyoomi had always known why. Even though he refused to admit it sometimes, the answer to Atsumu’s question was obvious.

“Because you, Miya Atsumu, are the person worth spending eternity with.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope the ending was worth going through all that pain and I hope you've liked the full story
> 
> Thanks for reading and I'd love to hear your thoughts about the story in the comments session  
> ♥

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a prologue to introduce us to Vampire Sakusa
> 
> Also, don't get used to small chapters, because this is the only one with less then 5K
> 
> Kudos and comments are always much appreciated  
> Thank you!


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